


Your Voice Within

by Inevitably_Apropos



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Branch is such a Drama Queen, Cloud Guy is BFF with Branch, F/F, F/M, Human AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rating May Change, Romance/Comedy/Angst, Singer AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-01-13 04:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inevitably_Apropos/pseuds/Inevitably_Apropos
Summary: He used to be one of the best singers of his time. Now, he’s just a regular guy working for his college degree while keeping his secret as the ex-vocalist of the band “The Party Crashers”. She dreamt of becoming a famous singer. But currently, she's earning her degree in management, while helping with the family business. When Poppy learns the truth about who Branch really is, she does everything to make him sing again. And Cloud Guy asks, will it work? #broppy





	1. The Past, The Present and The Future... sort of.

**Author's Note:**

> **A/n:** Hello there! I haven't been active in awhile but watching the Trolls Movie and reading lots of Broppy fanfics had revived me. This story is initially based on a tumblr prompt about Branch being a famous singer and Poppy singer-songwriter hopeful. 
> 
> I FOUND THE TUMBLR POST! I wrote this Singer AU based on mrscartoon's [post!](https://mrscartoon.tumblr.com/post/182673522371/thinking-of-a-broppy-au-branch-was-part-of-a-boy)
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful [AutumnalTroll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnalTroll) for beta reading this story!!
> 
> **Disclaimer:**I don't own Trolls and the songs featured in this story.

**o0o**

** _Famous Singer “BG” of “The Party Crashers” Injured in a Road Accident_ **

_18-year old singer Big Guy or “BG” as he is called by his bandmates “The Party Crashers” was heavily injured this morning, when the car he and his parents drove collided with an empty school bus at the intersection of Trollson Lane and Bergenbergh Avenue. _

_The bus driver, Cristian L. Borren of 513 Maple Lane, died at 10 A.M at Springfield Hospital, where he had been admitted following the accident. _

_BG’s parents, father, 46, and mother, 43, were reported dead on arrival. Their names have been requested by the bereaved and BG’s management to not be mentioned._

_The police stated the accident occurred as Borren attempted to turn left from Trollson Lane on to Bergenbergh Avenue. He turned into the path of the black sedan car of BG’s family as they were on their way to “The Party Crashers” concert venue. _

_BG’s car was forced off the road and into a 50-feet deep ditch. Damage was estimated at $2000 for the bus and $15,000 for BG’s car, the police added._

_Meanwhile, fans of BG and The Party Crashers are mourning for the loss of the singer’s parents and praying for his immediate recovery._

\----

Branch woke up to the sudden shrill sound of his phone’s ring tone, and cursed under his breath, as he tried to steady the heavy beating of his heart. He tried to make sense of his dark surroundings; slowly remembering where, and _when,_ he was. It had been seven years since the accident. And seven years since he’s gotten a single peaceful night’s sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he would remember how the car suddenly floated above ground and came plummeting down like gravity demanded it with a vengeance. He remembered the awful ringing in his ears, the blurry images of people coming in and out of focus, and the tear-streaked face of his grandmother when he finally woke up after three days in a coma.

It had been a nightmare on repeat for the past seven years.

Gulping a lungful of air, he stared at the dark ceiling, though not really seeing it. Again, the sudden blaring of his phone pulled him out of his brooding state.

Grumbling, he snatched it off his side table and then peered at who the unknown caller was; noting that it was still the ungodly hour of three AM on his digital clock. Branch was the morning type of person, and he usually woke up quite early, but not _this_ early.

“WHAT?” He shouted angrily at the speaker at the other end of the line. “It’s 3 AM. And whoever you are, there better be a hell of a good reason for calling me this goddamn early!”

There was a pause at the other side of the line, then a short cough, before an unknown baritone replied.

“I apologize for the disturbance, Mr. Garrick,” the voice answered, then promptly continued. “However, we would like to know if you are of relation to a Mr. Claude Heavens? He is currently detained here at Bergenville City Police Station.”

He groaned loudly as he felt an incoming headache. His so-called and self-proclaimed best friend was in the police station again! That made it three times just this fucking week.

Branch was going to murder that cloud airhead.

“He had been driving under the heavy influence of alcohol. We would like you to come over to the police station as soon as possible,” the police further explained.

“I’m sorry for the trouble, officer,” Branch apologized. “I’ll be there in an hour. And can you please punch that idiot for me? I’d really appreciate it.”

The police paused before answering in amusement. “I’m sorry Mr. Garrick. But we cannot do that.”

Sighing tiredly, he thanked the officer anyway and ended the call. Today was going to be a _very_ long day. He just knew it.

\----

The Bergenville City Police Department building was an intimidating piece of infrastructure, especially in the dark of early morning. Situated on No. 240 Centre Street, with its wide archways and alternating male and female mascarons decorated on keystones, it was built to garner reverence from both the officer and the prisoner with the majesty of the law.

The electric lamp posts illuminating in front only seemed to enhance its threatening effect. It was that kind of building.

At a different time, Branch would have appreciated the majestic infrastructure and taken notes on its architectural design and engineering. However, at the moment, it only seemed to enhance the raging headache he had.

Pushing the giant oakwood doors open, Branch ventured inside. A policeman sat behind a wide table. Putting down the newspaper he’d been reading, he greeted him in a voice that made it clear the guy needed a few extra hours of sleep.

“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”

“Morning officer,” Branch greeted back, smiling. “I’m here to bail out Mr. Claude Heavens.”

A bulb might have sparked to life in the half-asleep policeman’s head. “Ah! The DUI detainee!”

“Yes, the DUI detainee,” Branch growled in response and whether the police officer noticed his irritation didn’t seem to mind it. “Can I see him please?”

“Of course! Of course!” the officer chirped while standing up from his desk. Covering a yawn, he motioned for Branch to follow him towards the small row of jail cells at the end of the hallway.

“Heeeeya Branchykins~” cried a 26-year old man, wearing a bright purple shirt, Bermuda pants, and sandals with socks. His white shoulder length hair was currently tied into a messy bun and several stray curly locks framed his pinkish and inebriated face. “You finally picking me up, honeeeey~!”

“Claude Raine Heavens, so help me god if you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to call your aunt and let _her_ bail you out.”

That immediately quieted the intoxicated man. If there was anything that could definitely silence the noisy man, it was the mention of his terrifying aunt – Griselda “Chef” Heavens, owner of several chain restaurants worldwide. To say that Cloud Guy Heavens, ex-drummer of the famous band The Party Crashers, was afraid of his Aunt Griselda would be a vast understatement.

He was downright terrified.

And Branch knew about that, as he crossed his arms in front of him, and quirked a brow at the sniveling man behind bars.

“Branch, my man, my dude, my compadre amigo! You wouldn’t do that to your most cherished companion, would ya?” Cloud Guy begged at his self-proclaimed best friend.

“Don’t try me, CG,” replied said best friend.

“Please don’t. Good god, please don’t, Branch!” Cloud Guy begged even more as he grasped the jail bars tighter. “I-I’ll do anything! Please don’t call Aunt Griselda! She’ll kill me!”

Branch snorted at the pathetic display of begging in front of him. Of course, he wouldn’t even dare calling his friend’s witch of an aunt. If he did, they would both be dead.

Though it didn’t mean he couldn’t use it against his annoying friend.

Branch sighed and dropped his arms at his sides. He was really getting tired of continuously bailing out Cloud Guy whenever he got caught by the police. It was time to give him an ultimatum.

“Claude, this is getting exhausting. And to be honest, I’ve had enough of it.” Glaring at his best friend, he continued. “This will be the _last_ time I’ll bail you out from here on out. Next time this happens, and I’m not _shitting_ you on this, Chef Griselda _will_ be the one to come down here.”

Staring at the man’s face, which had paled to such a stark white that it almost mimicked his hair color, Branch knew Cloud Guy had understood his threat clearly. He just hoped it would continue to hold firm by the coming week. And that Chef Griselda wouldn’t notice the huge amount of money being withdrawn from CG’s bank account.

\----

After helping bail Cloud guy out, and threatening him with his absolute nightmare of an aunt if he dared let it happen again, he started preparing for his first day of class. At quarter to eight, he’d already started walking to campus.

Luckily, he was living near his university. Chef Griselda had offered him one of the studio rooms she owned to stay in for free. In return, he’d act as the three-story building’s landlord, and make sure each occupant paid their rent on time.

Thank goodness their occupants weren’t difficult to handle.

Also, he was finally in his fourth year as a civil engineering student at Bergenville University. Just one more year and he’d finally graduate. Being on full scholarship was more than merely difficult; it was unbelievably draining.

Staring at his class schedule, he found out his first class this term would be Economics 2, under Professor Mangus Gregor. It was one of the last two minor subjects he had left; the other was Art. He still wasn’t sure about the latter though.

Why would an Engineering student even need to have an art class? Especially on his fourth year?

Branch mulled over this while setting his heavy green backpack onto one of the empty seats at the back of the class, near the windows. It was enjoyable watching the scenery in peace while drowning out the teacher’s boring lecture.

Well, until the sound of cheerful bangles zapped his bubble of peace.

“Heeey~” chirped a perky voice next to him. “How’re ya, classmate~?”

Branch tried to ignore the annoying cheerful voice, but a poke to his side made him yelp instead. He glared at the pink-haired, third-year management student, whose beautiful brown eyes, cute freckles, and dazzling smile had all been described countless times in various poems written in his highly protected and super-secret journal.

Poppy Kreine was an annoying, painful, _beautiful_ thorn in his side.

“Sooo...” drawled Poppy. Grinning, she playfully punched him on the arm. “Looks like we’ll be classmates again this year, my man!”

Branch groaned internally. This wasn’t going to be a long day; it was going to be a long _semester_.


	2. All Cupcakes and Rainbows with Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here comes Poppy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/n:** The different languages used by Cloud Guy were translated using Google. I'm not fluent in these languages so any mistakes are my own and by Google. But please feel free to correct them if their wrong.
> 
> EDIT: (12/22/2019) This chapter was once again beta read by the beautiful AutumnallTroll. She's amazing, guys!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Trolls nor any songs featured in this story.

**o0o**

If there was something that would adequately describe Poppy Kreine, it would probably have to do with pink-dyed hair, dazzling sunshine smiles, and cupcakes and rainbows. Or something synonymous to those phrases. She was the type of person who always had a cheerful answer ready for every single greeting she received first thing in the morning.

“Morning Poppy!” called Mr. Berns, owner of a small grocery shop just outside the university.

“Good morning, Mr. Berns! Loved the strawberries you gave the other day!” she greeted in exuberance, her smile as wide as the River Nile. “We’ll order them from you when we make strawberry desserts next time!”

“Glad to hear that, Poppy!” Mr. Berns’ booming voice replied while he continued to stack several crates of fruits on top of each other. Brushing his hands together to dust them off, he grinned at the young woman. “Let me know in advance, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Berns.” Poppy hand saluted the shop owner and continued on her way through the university grounds.

Bergenville University, or simply called B.U. by its students, boasted a 100-step entrance to the university that led to the squad of its four main buildings – Reiss Hall and Holnman Hall on the north, and Strowell Library and Klansey Hall on the south. Its buildings, which were currently at 189 in total, were a combination of Romanesque Revival style – a style predominant in the 1950s – and modern architectural designs.

And right in the center of the university stood its famous Rotunda, a 183-feet majestic white building made from marble, sandstone, and other rock fragments. Surrounding it was an expansive green lawn and extending down the length of the lawn stood five Pavilions, all interspersed with student rooms; each one boasting its own classical architectural style.

To put it simply, Bergenville University didn’t hold back any pride when it came to showcasing its rich 400 years of honored history as an educational institution.

For Poppy, she hoped it would become her Alma Mater in less than two years. Two very _long_ years, in her opinion. Still, she entered Reiss Hall filled with hope and positivity.

Not long after she had stepped into the building, a loud familiar baritone voice called out to her. She searched for the owner of the voice and saw her best friend Susan “Smidge” Smith plowing through a group of law students, heading straight towards her.

“Poppy!” Smidge called excitedly. Her long blonde hair - faded blue at the tips- was tied into a messy ponytail. She was wearing black running leggings with a matching white workout top and running shoes. Her yellow letterman jacket hung carelessly on her shoulder right along with her blue duffel bag.

Smidge looked right out of the gym. And she probably was.

“Hey Smidge! What’s up, BFF?” Poppy waved at her friend, then they initiated their BFF hand shake greeting, which was so complicated it was nearly impossible to describe in words. It involved a series of quick snaps, fingers fanned out as their hands swiftly overlapped one another. Arms locked, they spun around, fingers locking behind their backs. Spinning back around, they bumped elbows in an alternating fashion, shimmied, and brought it home with a tight hug.

After the very complicated but always necessary greeting, the blonde girl squealed in excitement. “Poppy! You’re not gonna BELIEVE this! But I asked Milton Moss to the fall dance and he said YES!”

“Oh my god. He said YES?!”

“He said YES!”

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god, Smidge! I’m so happy for you!”

Milton Moss was a third year veterinary student at B.U., and ever since Smidge had laid eyes on him during orientations in first year, she’d had a _huge_ crush on him. She had _tried_ countless times to ask the ginger-haired vet student to go with her to the university’s famous Fall Dance. But always lacked the courage to do so, which was a feat for the small lady – only standing at five foot two – because she was considered one of the strongest Judo players in the whole city.

And Smidge was never too scared to put up a fight. Even with someone double her size. In fact, nothing seemed to scare the feisty, petite girl.

Well, except for one thing: asking her crush out. She’d been scared shitless of such an idea.

So to say that Poppy was very proud of her best friend was an understatement. She was very _very_ proud of her.

A teary-eyed Poppy hugged her best friend again and cheered. “Thank god, you finally asked him out!”

Smidge returned the hug with just as much gusto, minding her strength, as she held the pink-haired girl. Then after a few seconds of hugging, both girls felt long arms around the two of them, as if another person had joined their impromptu hugging session.

Poppy looked next to her and found another person had indeed joined them. Said person was a white-haired guy wearing a pink floral Hawaiian shirt, beige Bermuda shorts, and black sandals with white socks.

And there was only one guy Poppy could think of who considered wearing sandals with socks to be the ‘latest’ fashion trend.

Claude Heavens - more popularly known as Cloud Guy by his fraternity friends – because he seemed to have an obsession with a certain ex-drummer from a famous band. He looked and dressed like The Party Crasher’s drummer. At least somewhat. But the resemblance ended there.

This Cloud Guy could not, even if he tried his hardest, play the drums. His friends had tried time and again to teach him how to play, but he was just completely uncoordinated. It became a widely known joke on the campus that he was Cloud Guy, the Wannabe.

Good thing the guy was chill about the whole thing.

“Cloud Guy!” Poppy exclaimed – surprised - but still happy to see her friend. “My compadre amigo! Slap it, boss!”

“Ohhh… Yeah! High five, mi amiga!”

The two proceeded to do a multitude of high fives, each one a little more complicated than the last, and a little longer too. At the end of the last high five, they were giggling like giddy grade-schoolers.

Poppy was still giggling when Cloud Guy addressed Smidge and said, “And hello there, little lady,” he greeted, doing a suave bow and a flirtatious wink. “Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui, Mademoiselle Smidge?”

Smidge growled in annoyance. She glared at him with deadly eyes, and Cloud Guy immediately shut his mouth and hid behind Poppy’s back, looking at the blonde girl with so much fear, the man looked like he’d peed on himself.

“Call me little again and I’ll make sure you’ll be smaller than me when I’m done pounding you into a pulp.” She cracked her knuckles and sneered at him.

“Okaaay… Smidge don’t pound CG into a pulp,” – Poppy declared while placing herself between the two – “And CG don’t call Smidge small. She has an issue with her height.”

“I do not!” the blonde girl retorted hotly.

“Anywaaay… CG, you’ll still attend the party this Saturday at Toby’s place, right?” she asked, ignoring her friend’s outburst. They started walking down the hallway that led to their respective classrooms. The halls were starting to get more crowded as students hurried to get to class.

“Si, mademoiselle, le Moi will definitely attend le fête fabuleuse this Saturday,” Cloud Guy grinned at her, then paused at a door that led to his Literature class. “Welp, this is my stop, ladies.”

“Great! I’ll see you at the party then!”

“B-T-W Pops, would you mind if I bring some of my fraternity friends with me?”

”Hmmm… Yeah, sure, why not! The more, the merrier, right?”

“Sure is. See ya later, chica~” CG waved, then entered his classroom.

Smidge suddenly gave a long sigh of relief the moment the white-haired man left them. Cloud Guy was a great person to hang out with but for some reason he just always rubbed Smidge the wrong way. Most likely because he kept calling her small, and Poppy’s right, she did have a slight hang-up about being small…

She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but being the shortest person in her circle of friends always made her insecure. She wouldn’t be caught dead _admitting_ she was insecure, but she was. It was the reason she started practicing all sorts of sports and martial arts. And currently, Judo was her sport of choice.

“Finally, he’s gone,” Smidge grumbled in relief. “Thought he’d never leave.”

Poppy chuckled at her friend. Cloud Guy _could_ be a little bit insensitive sometimes but he wasn’t all that awful a guy.

“Oh, he’s not that bad,” Poppy answered. Checking the time on her wrist watch, she noticed that she still had fifteen minutes left before class started. She didn’t want to be late for her first one of the day. The Economics professor handling the class was infamous for expelling students who were late for his classes, or so the rumors went. Whether they were true or not, she wouldn’t bet against it.

So she hurried her pace, and added, “Anyway, I have to book it to my Econ class, Smidge. I still have a pretty good walk ahead of me. I’ll see you at Toby’s party, too, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Smidge nodded, then frowned in concentration, as if remembering something important. “B-T-W, are you free Sunday afternoon?”

Poppy paused for a moment. “Sunday afternoon? Yeah, I think I’m free. Why?”

Smidge continued. “Remember the nursing home I volunteer for?”

“Yeah? The one on 66th street, right?”

“Uh-huh, that one. So, one of the caregivers will be on maternity leave starting Friday. Remember Gia?”

“Yeah, I do. Wow, she’s due already?”

“Yep! The homes are gonna be understaffed for a little while, since they’re still looking for a temporary replacement for Gia, and they asked whether I knew people who could volunteer,” Smidge explained, looking hopeful at Poppy. “Think you can volunteer?”

A wide smile spread across Poppy’s face.

“Oh, I would love to!” she answered excitedly. “I really enjoyed my last visit there.”

“Great! You’re a life saver, Poppy.” Smidge grinned at her, now looking relieved. Taking care of the elderly needed a lot of patience, and Poppy was the most patient person Smidge knew among her friends. “My shift starts at 2 o’clock. So I’ll drop by your house at around 1:30 to pick you up, kay?”

“M’kay…,” the pinkette answered distractedly. Poppy stared at her watch, gasping in horror. There were only _five_ minutes left before Professor Mangus’ class started. “Holy casserole! I’m gonna be late! Later, Smidge!”

She started running through the corridors and out the back entrance of Reiss Hall, then down across the great, green Lawn of Bergenville University. Shouts from several gardeners were thrown her way, but Poppy didn’t care.

She’d rather receive angry shouts from the gardeners than face the wrath of Professor Mangus Gregor. So she ran, like her life literally depended on it.

When Poppy reached the classroom, seven minutes later, she almost cried tears of joy when the teacher’s assistant announced that it was going to be a self-study class. At least for today. The professor had a sudden emergency meeting to attend, and therefore, could not be there. It looked like the gods were smiling down upon Poppy and decided to show her a little kindness.

She wasn’t late for Economics class, and she spied a familiar raven-haired, grumpy-looking man, sitting in a corner next to the window. He sat far away from the other students and there was a mixture of boredom and annoyance painted on his face.

Branch Garrick was the very image of unhappiness, greyness, and life without cupcakes or rainbows. He steered clear of other students, except for Cloud Guy, who Poppy still couldn’t believe was the former’s best friend. She had found out, from the outgoing white-haired man of course, that they had been friends since grade school.

Poppy was very curious about how the two met; because no one had ever seen two people from the opposite side of the spectrum being best friends. It was mind-boggling. And it was eating away at Poppy’s curiosity every passing day.

And the infuriating men didn’t seem to have any plans to tell her. Well, alright, it was more like Branch threatened Cloud Guy not to tell her. Blast the man!

“Heeey~” she chirped in greeting, taking the empty seat next to him. “How’re ya, classmate~?”

Branch completely ignored her. But it didn’t deter Poppy. She playfully poked him on the side, which made him yelp in surprise, then promptly glare at her.

If Poppy wasn’t already used to his death glares, she would have cowered away from the intensity of it. But she was. And she knew it was his way of pushing others away, so she had nothing to be afraid of. Besides, she was on a personal campaign to make the grumpy man sociable, friendly, and happy.

Yeah, her friend. She wanted to see her friend happy.

“Sooo...” she drawled, and grinned, as she playfully punched his arm. “Looks like we’ll be classmates again this year, my man!”

Branch groaned, and continued to glare at her. “Go away, Poppy.” He growled in annoyance. But when it looked like she had no such intentions, he decided to ignore her again. She watched him open his bag and take out his Economics book, a notebook, and several pens.

He placed his right elbow on the desk, and his chin on the palm of his hand, then opened the page on the book where they were supposed to read and study. Poppy watched the man pointedly ignoring her in irritation. But she smirked as an idea formed in her head.

“Branch, Branch, Branch!” Poppy screamed right into his ear. “I have to say something important to you!”

Students looked their way; some curious about what was going on and others irritated at Poppy violently shattering the surrounding quiet. She smiled sheepishly at them in return.

The raven-haired man scowled at the pink-haired monster next to him. Branch could feel his ear drums ringing. He felt like he was talking to a misbehaving child as he spoke, “What Poppy? What could actually be _so_ important that you’re willing to thwart my studying?”

Poppy rolled her eyes at the man’s exaggeration. Sometimes he could be so overly dramatic.

“Okay, first, I am not ‘thwarting’ you from your studies,” – she air quoted his words – “And second, I’m inviting you to a party this Saturday!”

He gave her a dismissive blink that made her feel like she had sprouted a second head. Then, a sarcastic laugh erupted from the man.

“Yeeeah, no,” he answered without any second thoughts, before going back to reading his book.

“Oh, come on, Branch! It’s going to be the best party ever!”

“Uh-huh, that’s the same exact thing you’ve said about every party you’ve thrown up until now. All 156 of them,” he scoffed.

“No it’s no- Wait, you’ve been taking count?”

“Wha- No- Of course, I’m not! Why would I? That’s stupid.” He answered, crossing his arms defensively.

“Then how come you know it’s already been 156 parties?” she asked him, quirking an amused brow.

She watched him stumble on his words. “It’s _sarcasm_, Poppy,” he replied scathingly, trying to cover his slip.

“Uh-huh, yeah, of course,” she quipped, not believing a word of it. “And besides, you have nothing to do on Saturday night! I know for a fact you don’t.”

“Excuse you, but I am very much busy on Saturday night.”

“Oh yea? Doing what? Watching alien conspiracy theories on Youtube? Newsflash, Branch, aliens don’t exist.”

“You don’t know that!” he hissed. “They could be out there! Watching… Waiting… Listening…”

Poppy suddenly burst into laughter. She thought the whole thing was quite silly, and was a little bit impressed with Branch’s belief; though it was still hard to believe herself.

“Oh, you silly, silly boy,” Poppy giggled. “There’s no such thing as aliens.”

“Uh-huh, yeah sure. I hope you’ll say the same thing when aliens DO exist and come for us in the future to enslave us all!”

Poppy continued to laugh. “Well, whatever, here’s your invitation to the party. See you there!”

She gave him a pink, sparkly invitation, filled with glitter. She stood up and carefully slung her pink bag over her shoulder. “And since the professor isn’t here, I’m gonna take advantage of this most valuable opportunity.”

“…by doing what, exactly?”

“I’m gonna go run some errands and give invitations to everyone across the campus. Bye, grumpy pants!”

He glared at her retreating back, and then down at the pink monstrosity he now held in his hands.

\-------

The rest of the week had been a whirlwind of activities for Poppy. She spent the next several days attending class and shopping for an outfit for Saturday’s party, with her fashionista friends, of course.

Then Saturday came.

The party had been another rousing success. After planning hundreds of university parties, Poppy could just about piece everything together with her eyes closed. She was already used to how long they lasted, which could be up to as late as four in the morning, and had developed a kind of routine for it. Now the following afternoon was upon her. She was just applying the last layer of mascara to her eyelashes while she waited for Smidge to arrive.

“Are you going out again?” asked a voice in her doorway. The owner of the voice was a small young boy, dark locks framing his face. He was holding a guitar that was somewhat too big for his body. “Didn’t you just get home at four in the morning?”

Apparently, he knew the routine well too.

Poppy’s younger cousin, Keith Dewdrop, was looking at her disapprovingly in the mirror. For an eight-year-old boy, he was too smart and too _sarcastic_ for someone his age. It was disconcerting sometimes, but at the moment, Poppy found it amusing. He sounded like a hovering mother scolding her child for going out too often.

“Well, I promised Smidge that I’d help her volunteer at the nursing home,” Poppy answered, dusting a bit more glitter onto her cheeks, and then turned to look at her cousin. “She’s picking me up in a few minutes.”

“Oh, so you’re going out with Smidge?” he inquired, titling his head a little to match gaze with her. “Hmm… I guess that’s okay. I like Smidge. I think, she’s cool.”

Poppy chuckled at that. For Keith, Smidge had become a sort of idol ever since the blonde girl demonstrated bending a one-inch metal bar with her bare hands. Her cousin had tried doing the same thing, and he failed, of course. But instead of laughing at the boy, Smidge had encouraged him to train more to become stronger.

Ever since then, Smidge had been in Keith’s good book. He liked her better than any of Poppy’s other friends.

“Yeah, she’s super cool,” Poppy grinned. “Anyway, where are _you_ going, Keith?”

The boy looked away in embarrassment, his cheeks tinged pink, and his fingers fiddling with the guitar’s strings.

“Going to Cilla’s house,” he mumbled under his breath, which Poppy almost didn’t catch. “She said she wanted to learn how to play guitar, so I said I’d teach her.”

“Awww… That’s so sweet of you, Keith.” Poppy cooed at her younger cousin.

Priscilla Brooks was Keith’s childhood friend and longtime crush. Poppy had known about it ever since Keith had first invited her over a few months ago. His affection towards the young spectacled girl was so blatantly sweet, Poppy and Moxie – her other cousin, who Poppy was currently staying with – had been shameless in knowing the girl more; to the utmost irritation of Keith.

“But I’m not good at it yet, so I’m just gonna teach her the basics.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”

Keith nodded, his eyes still avoiding Poppy’s gaze.

Suddenly, a car horn honked outside. Poppy walked towards her bedroom window and peered outside the driveway. Sure enough, there was Smidge’s blue Honda Civic parked in front of their house.

Poppy hurriedly grabbed her pink clutch bag and stuffed her wallet, handkerchief, and phone inside. “Well, Smidge’s here, so I better go. Say Hi to Cilla for me, ‘kay?”

“M’kay.”

“See you later, Keith.”

“Later, Poppy.”

\------

The thirty-minute ride to Cherry Tree Serenity Homes had been quite enjoyable and music-filled. Poppy and Smidge had turned the ride into an all-out carpool karaoke. As she finished eating the last bite of chocolate Smidge gave her earlier, she was still bobbing her head to one of her favorite songs, from her most favorite band – The Party Crashers.

“_C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby, now_,” Poppy sang with a little shake of her body. “_Twist and shout!_”

She finished the last note with a shout of her own, as Smidge carefully parked her car in front of the nursing home. The facility had three main buildings, a cozy courtyard with cherry blossom and palm trees, a small outdoor swimming pool, and a gymnasium next to it. It was a beautiful place which currently catered to twenty elders living in the nursing home.

The first building of the nursing home held a small reception desk where a pertly redheaded woman with glasses happily greeted Poppy and Smidge.

“Hello there! Welcome to Cherry Trees Serenity Homes!”

“Hey, Sandra!” Smidge greeted back with a smile. Then motioned to Poppy and added, “This is Poppy. You remember her from the Summer Blast, right? She volunteered here last time.”

The redheaded woman peered carefully at Poppy and beamed. “Ah yes, wasn’t she the one who sang that wonderful song about colors? It really was a wonderful song, dear.”

Poppy blushed at the unexpected praise of her original song composition. It made her extremely happy. The elders had asked Poppy to sing for them the last time she volunteered, and decided to sing her own composition titled “_True Colors_”. It was warmly accepted by the grandpas and grannies who served as her small audience at the time.

The pair silently followed Sandra as she walked them down the hallway, towards a beautiful yellow drawing room, that was currently filled with elderly people. They were raptly listening to someone in front of them.

“You two are just in time,” Sandra whispered, as she ushered them inside the drawing room. “A grandson of one of the residents is performing his monthly mini concert.”

The new arrival silently stood at the front of the drawing room. And before Poppy could see who the grandson in question was, an elderly woman with faded blonde hair suddenly dropped her sewing basket next to her. Smidge and Poppy immediately knelt to the floor to retrieve the scattered sewing materials.

Then, a voice, who Poppy was overly familiar with, made her snap her attention away from the sewing supplies at her feet and look towards the front of the room. Sitting on a high stool, at a small podium, was Branch, holding an acoustic guitar. There was a small basket next to him, placed on top of a small table, and it was filled with small papers.

"Who requested the opera song?" he inquired, scowling at the small piece of paper in his hand. “Guys, I don’t sing opera.”

To say that Poppy was surprised to see him there, in front of twenty hopeful and eager elderly people waiting for him to sing, was the understatement of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Tbh, I'm having a hard time writing dialogue formats so I've been experimenting them a LOT. The dialogues here are all over the place. Here's me hoping I can get a better grasp on it. Looks like Branch is in for a little surprise in the next chapter. 
> 
> Also, the song Poppy sang for a very short time was "Twist and Shout" by The Beatles.
> 
> Please don't forget to bookmark, kudos, and review this story!
> 
> See you next chapter~!


	3. Singing can be painful… Or anything really.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branch makes a small performance, Poppy learns some parts of the truth, and Gristle enters the scene... or something in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Hey guys! Sorry for the super late update! I'm usually extremely busy when the month ends because you know… work. So updates would be a little bit scarce during these times. Also, I got sick for almost a week because of tonsillitis so never really had the energy to write anything. Anyway, let's see how Branch's performance goes.
> 
> EDIT: (12/22/19) Beta read by the amazing AutumnalTroll, writer of the wonderful "Fire and Ice", an ice skating Broppy AU. Read it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Trolls. I also don’t own any of the songs that would be featured in this story.

**o0o**

"Who requested the opera song?" Branch inquired, scowling at the small piece of paper in his hand, then at his elderly audience. He released an exasperated sigh and added, “Guys, I _don’t_ sing opera. Who even suggested this?”

An elderly woman, with faded chestnut-colored hair, sitting right in front of him answered. “You don’t? But yer ‘ma said you do!”

“Mrs. Sanders, the only time I sang opera was back in third grade,” Branch countered politely, and _loudly_, remembering the elderly woman had hearing problems. “I can’t even remember the lyrics of the song!”

He had only performed an opera song once, and it was because he used to be a member of a boys’ choir group back in elementary school. The group was asked to perform a very special song and Branch was tasked to sing the solo parts. And everyone knew, especially his choir conductor, that he had the voice of an angel, so giving him the part was only natural.

He really didn’t mind it back then, since his father happily encouraged him to take the part - not because the man used to sing opera songs when he was younger, and was biased about it - but because he really thought Branch had the skills to pursue becoming an opera singer in the future. But alas, Branch didn’t become an opera singer, much to his father’s dismay. He did become a singer, though not the genre his father imagined.

So going back to the requested song, at this impromptu, once a month concert, encouraged by his beloved grandmother, Branch was having difficulty rejecting the song choice. He always tried to cater to the wishes of the nursing home residents in his audience. But he doubted he could even sing the requested song properly.

"Oh, come on, my dear, you did really well singing opera songs back when you were younger," Grandma Rosiepuff gently reminded. There was a smile on her face, making her look younger, concealing some of the wrinkles on her kind face. "I remember it like it was only yesterday. I can still hear your beautiful angelic voice.”

Branch groaned internally, mumbling to himself, “For you, it really might just be yesterday.” He looked sadly at his smiling grandmother. Rosette Garrick, or Rosiepuff as she was lovingly called by her family and friends, had dark faded-hair, speckled with teal-colored hair dye on some parts. A result of long hours of painting. It was her favorite hobby since before she’d been transferred to Cherry Tree Serenity homes, almost five years ago, because of dementia.

Back then, before both of their lives were completely destroyed because of what happened to his parents, Grandma Rosiepuff could remember _everything_ despite being in her late sixties. The shock of his parents’ death might have triggered his grandmother’s dementia. As his grandmother’s mental state quickly worsened, Branch decided to quit being a singer, breaking up his band in the process, so he could start personally taking care of his ailing grandmother.

More than a year had passed since then, and he could no longer care for her properly. Their financial status was going downhill and Branch couldn’t afford to get a part-time job; not trusting anyone to take care of Grandma Rosiepuff didn’t help matters either.

If it weren’t for one of Claude’s suggestions and financial help, Branch wouldn’t even have thought of the nursing home, much less afford it. He also wouldn’t have had the resolve to part ways with his grandmother, terrified he’d lose his last living relative.

Branch had been so lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the two young women who surreptitiously took a seat at the far corner of the room, carefully hidden by two bulky and balding elderly men. The first of the two, the pink-haired one, was clearly surprised to see him there. There were a lot of questions swirling around inside her head, but she knew that if he noticed her presence now, a catastrophe might break loose. So she waited patiently, even if it wasn’t her strong suit.

“Come on, sonny boy!” yelled another elderly man, who thumped his cane violently on the floor. “Just sing the dratted song already so we can get a move on, will ya!”

Branch glared at said man as he was pulled out of his thoughts, then sighed. He really didn’t want to but he guessed he had no choice. It was either he sang the damn song or disappoint his ‘audience’.

“Alright, fine, I’ll sing! But it’ll be a different song,” Branch glared at the balding man, and finally relented. “I don’t know this song. And like I said, I only performed opera once, and that was in third grade… I’ll sing one of the songs song I performed instead.”

Grabbing his black iPhone from the back pocket of his jeans, he opened the device and typed a quick search for the song’s lyrics. He couldn’t remember the lyrics of the song requested, but luckily he remembered the _melody_ – its rhythm and tune - since it was one he had to practice countless times.

After finding what he was looking for, he carefully placed his guitar on the table beside him. He then stood up; feet perfectly parallel to each other and slightly part. His shoulders held back and down, but completely relaxed, even if he _was_ feeling a little bit nervous. His abdomen in an expandable position, with his right hand relaxed and still at his side, while his left hand held his smartphone, skimming through the lyrics. Proper posture was everything when doing opera, of course.

And then he was singing.

_Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo giusto,_

_Lì tutti vivono in pace e in onestà._

_Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,_

_Come le nuvole che volano,_

_Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima._

A rich, baritone voice, echoed throughout the room as he sang the first verse of the music piece. Each word, each note, so carefully uttered, was filled with so much warmth; everyone who listened was suddenly filled with happiness and hope.

_Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo chiaro,_

_Lì anche la notte è meno oscura._

_Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,_

_Come le nuvole che volano._

He let his mind wander to sweet, painful memories of his childhood days. Memories he never dared let himself recall. Memories that accompanied this song, from a past he could never move on from. A past he could never let go. A fantasy he always dreamt and chased.

_Nella fantasia esiste un vento caldo,_

_Che soffia sulle città, come amico._

_Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,_

_Come le nuvole che volano,_

_Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima._

Time seemed to stop as the last notes of the song faded out. Every single person in drawing room was holding their breath in complete awe, and then one by one, as if time had finally started moving again, everyone was applauding the wonderful performance they had just witnessed. Some of them gave a standing ovation, while others whooped in glee; for it was, by far, one of Branch’s best performances.

He smiled shyly at the elder residents, feeling a little bit winded after hitting a few too many high notes.

He was raking his eyes through the crowd when he finally noticed two figures who shouldn’t be there in the first place. The most exuberant of the two, clapped her hands wildly, while kneeling in front of a teary Mrs. Meadows. The other stared in open shock, as if in disbelief that she had just witnessed _him_ – Branch, of all people – sing.

Smidge slapped herself to see if she was dreaming, while Poppy was grinning at him like she’d just been given the best birthday present ever. And Branch felt his heart suddenly give out.

What was she doing here? Why would they even _be_ here?!

His mind swirled with unanswered questions, and watched in silent horror, as Poppy made her way towards him, passing through a small excited crowd of elderly people. He quickly thought of a way to avoid the woman, but saw no escape. He still had to perform one more song for the elderly residents, and if he bailed out now, he’d never hear the end of it from them.

But before Poppy could reach him, as if the gods above had finally taken pity on him, the drawing room door suddenly burst open and in came Cloud Guy. Branch had never been so happy to see his ‘best buddy’ enter a room unexpectedly, with the swagger of someone who thought he owned the place.

“Boom, baby!” Cloud Guy announced himself proudly. “How’re y’all, fam?!”

He winked at Mrs. Cole, who was sitting on her wheelchair, next to the open door. “And of course, how do you do, mademoiselle? You are looking wonderful today, as always.” Bowing dramatically in front of the elder woman, he gently took her hand, and placed a flirtatious kiss on its back. Mrs. Cole tittered like a giddy school girl and smiled sweetly at the man.

“Oh my dear Claude, you never fail to give compliments,” Mrs. Cole giggled, patting his hand happily. “I’m doing fine, by the way, my boy.”

“Compliments is my middle name, Madame, if you must know,” he grinned, then straightened up and gazed at the small podium in front, where he knew his best buddy was doing his monthly performance. Immediately, his smile vanished. Horror replaced it, as his eyes widened in shock, and took in the scene in front of him.

Branch’s fierce blue eyes sent a warning which Cloud Guy instantly understood. _Don’t tell her anything_, his eyes said. _Distract her_.

Looking like nothing was amiss at all, Branch watched as his best friend sashayed his way towards Poppy. If it weren’t for the fear currently hammering his heart, he would have rolled his eyes at how ridiculous CG walked.

“Poppy! Questa è una sorpresa!” He heard him greet her. And this time, Branch did roll his eyes. Leave it to Claude to always incorporate foreign language in every statement he uttered. “What are you doing here, my friend?” Cloud Guy asked, carefully ushering the pinkette away from the small podium, and more importantly, away from Branch.

He released a relieved sigh, and wondered once more if he should continue with his singing performance or not, knowing that if he did, he’d have to fend off a barrage of questions from the one person he’d avoided telling. And as if the gods had taken pity on Branch for the _second_ time that day – damn, he was never this lucky – his smartphone vibrated with an incoming call. He peered at it. A victorious smile bloomed on his face. Never would he have imagined he’d happily _accept_ and _talk_ with the caller.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Branch spoke loudly, making sure not to let on just how relieved he really was. “I _really_ need to take this call and it might take a while… So I’ll have to end the performance here. I promise to make it up to everyone next time.”

A series of groans and awws echoed throughout the room. He didn’t care if he disappointed his audience, as long as he got out of there immediately. Grabbing his guitar, Branch jumped down from the podium, then kneeled in front of his grandmother, kissing her forehead and promising to visit her the next day. Then he left the room, feeling like the hounds of hell were after him.

\-------

Poppy watched in surprise as Branch ran out of the room, like his life depended on it, like he was running away from _her_. And she felt hurt.

It wasn’t the first time he had run away from her before, but it was the first time he fled with terror in his eyes. Like he didn’t expect her to be there at all. She didn’t miss the shock and horror plastered in his eyes, and she also didn’t miss the silent conversation he’d had with Cloud Guy. Despite people telling her that she could be completely oblivious sometimes, she was certainly _not_ as oblivious as people thought she was.

Poppy wasn’t insensible to other people’s feelings, especially Branch’s feelings. She had the uncanny ability of _always_ being attuned to his emotions. She knew if he was happy-angry, or aggravated-angry, or angry-angry. So she also knew that Cloud Guy was trying to stall her from going after his best friend.

“…I was really surprised to see you here! I mean, I’m always happy to see-” Cloud Guy continued to ramble on. But Poppy interrupted him.

“CG, why is Branch running away?” She asked, her confusion evident in her voice.

“Huh? What?” He replied, not sure how to answer her question. “What do you mean?”

“I said, why is he running away like his ass is on fire?” Poppy repeated in annoyance. Her eyes narrowing at the man next to her. “And why are you rambling like you’re trying to stall me or something?”

Cloud Guy immediately snapped his mouth shut and stared nervously at her. She could blatantly see his mind’s gears working overtime, trying to come up with an acceptable answer to her questions.

“Uhm…he needed to answer a phone call?” he answered weakly, giving her an unconvincing smile, which she returned with a pointed look. Sighing, he added, “Your arrival was clearly an unexpected turn of events, mon chéri.”

“Whaddya mean ‘unexpected arrival’?” Smidge questioned before Poppy could voice it aloud, crossing her arms in annoyance. “Our arrival wasn’t unexpected. _His_ _performance_ was! We were supposed to do volunteer work today! How the hell were we supposed to know he’d be doing a silly concert today anyway!?”

Both Poppy and Cloud Guy winced at Smidge’s angry tirade; though latter was slightly sheepish about it and conceded.

“You’re right, Smidge. Branch’s ‘silly’ performances are sporadic at best.” He air-quoted, then shrugged. “Who would have thought you’d be doing volunteer work the same day he put on one of his monthly impromptu concerts?”

“Impromptu?” Poppy asked, a little bit surprised.

“Yeah, impromptu,” He quipped, rubbing his neck ruefully, “He actually only does it once a month. And only if Grandma Rosiepuff requests it.”

He motioned to an elderly woman, with faded dark hair and teal highlights, who was sitting in a wheelchair in front of the small wooden platform, happily conversing with another elderly redheaded woman. They couldn’t make out what the two women were talking about, but it looked like they were enjoying themselves. On the outside, the two elderly women appeared to be in great health, as if there was nothing wrong with either one of them. But as he looked on in sympathy, Cloud Guy knew that in a matter of minutes, both women wouldn’t remember what the other was talking about.

“She has dementia,” he explained, his serious tone grabbing their attention, as serious was not CG’s normal avenue. “It’s getting worse recently, to be honest. Nowadays, she can only remember me and Branch once a month, and when she does remember, she always asks him to sing for her. She always says she wants to remember the angelic voice of her grandson, but the next second, she doesn’t recall she ever even _had_ a grandson.”

Cloud Guy frowned. “It crushes Branch every time that happens, ya know, knowing that there are days his last living relative can’t even remember him anymore. It crushes me, too. I’ve known Grandma Rosie since I was five and I’ve literally grown up knowing her as my own grandma. She would always call me her little rain cloud…”

He was smiling at Poppy, but his smile never reached his eyes. Poppy was stunned to see the heavy sadness set in on the always happy-go-lucky man’s face. She knew Branch might have some personal problems, which made him grumpy every day, but to finally know the extent of his unhappiness? It made her heart ache terribly for him.

“I’m so sorry, CG, I didn’t know.” She didn’t know how she could comfort him. The only thing she could do was apologize, even if she didn’t have to, which CG gently reminded her of himself.

“Not your fault, Pops,” he soothed gently. “It comes with old age…there’s really nothing we can do about it.”

She knew that. But she still felt awful for Branch. No one deserved to have that kind of sadness in their lives. She knew how it could destroys one’s life in the worst way. Back when her mom died, she had felt the same hopeless anguish, but with her father’s help, she’d unearthed the happiness she’d lost before. Thanks to his endless love and support, Poppy was able to bounce back and enjoy life again.

Not having support like that in his life, she could only imagine how Branch truly felt.

\------

Branch felt like he’d been hit by a truck, then trampled by a stampede of hungry elephants. He’d pedaled back to his apartment building as fast as he could on his bicycle after talking with Chef Griselda on the phone. He might have spoken too soon, when he thought the call had been God’s saving grace, after Poppy’s unexpected arrival. But the truth was it was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Calls from that old crone never did bode well, he lamented, as he remembered their latest conversation.

_Branch hurriedly tapped the green button to answer the incoming call, knowing that the tyrant woman never liked to be kept waiting, and ran outside the building. He was able to accept the call on its third and final ring, then formally addressed the woman on the receiving end._

_“Good afternoon, Chef Griselda,” Branch greeted, in a not-so-steady voice, as he tried to keep his breathing normal again. “I apologize for the delay. I was in the middle of visiting my grandmother at the nursing home.”_

_“That’s fine, Garrick, I don’t need the details of it,” Chef Griselda’s low, raspy voice, echoed through the earpiece. Branch immediately stood to attention upon hearing her commanding tone. “I just called to inform you that Gristle is coming to stay at the apartment with you and my idiotic nephew.”_

_Wait, Gristle? Had he heard that right? King Gristle Jr. was going to be living with him? And from the sound of things, he would be babysitting another family member of hers as well?_

_Branched rubbed his face tiredly, reigning in a groan from escaping his lips. He didn’t want the demanding woman to know how troublesome it was to take care of her stubborn nephew. And now she was adding her son to the mix!_

_The head matriarch continued, unaware of Branch’s internal turmoil. “He insisted on going to Bergenville University and live independently, away from the main house. I want you to look out for him, help him with his studies, and of course, keep him away from social climbing hyenas who are only after his wealth and status. Am I clear, Garrick?”_

_He nodded immediately, then recalled she could not see him, so he quickly answered. “Yes, Chef. I’ll take care of Gristle while he’s staying here. Uhh…when is Gristle coming?”_

_There was a long pause at the other end of the line, and then some shuffling of papers, which told Branch the call hadn’t ended yet. _

_“Uhm…Ma’am?”_

_“He’ll be there in a few minutes since my son took an early flight for Bergenville,” she answered gruffly, and then in an afterthought added, “Also, give him the building’s penthouse. He mentioned something about wanting privacy.”_

_“I…see…” He replied, not really wrapping his head around the idea that Gristle was arriving in just a few minutes, and he’d only been informed of this news mere seconds ago. “Would there be anything else?”_

_“Ah, yes, don’t forget to submit this month’s financial account report. That’ll be all.” Chef abruptly ended the call before Branch could even reply. _

The call was almost enough to forget about his Poppy problem. Almost. And, now, here he was, panting and tired from cycling too fast, just so he could arrive home before Gristle did; which was a fruitless endeavor.

Branch saw an excited Gristle taking selfies of the place, and posting it on his social media accounts, while his suitcases were haphazardly piled in front of the building’s entrance.

Branch carefully scrutinized the nineteen-year-old in front of him. Nothing really had changed with Gristle, he still looked as fat as before, with a couple of freckles scattered on his chubby face, and his short-cropped hair was now dyed green. He raised a skeptical brow at his new charge’s hair color. Chef wouldn’t allow her only son to dye his hair such a ridiculous color; Gristle must have dyed it before leaving.

It was like the pot calling the kettle black, as he remembered how he used to dye his own hair blue during his teenage years; he snorted at himself. Well, no time for musing about things from the past, and better get Gristle settled for the day.

“Gristle!” Branch called out, as he parked his bike on the bicycle rack, next to the apartment’s driveway. “Did you wait long?”

The green-haired teen suddenly whipped his head towards Branch– he was sure he heard a loud crack – then grinned widely at him. “Branch! Hey! No, I just got here a few minutes ago!” Gristle replied, as he came bounding towards Branch. “Man, I’m so glad to see you again!”

He had no time to prepare himself, as the teen suddenly gave him a bone-crushing hug, enough to knock the air out of him. “G-Gristle! C-can’t…breathe!” Branch wheezed, trying to suck oxygen back into his crushed lungs.

Gristle smiled sheepishly, slowly removing himself from Branch, and steadying him. “I, uhh-sorry ‘bout that,” Gristle apologized, rubbing his arm awkwardly. He could be too ecstatic sometimes, and often forgot how much stronger he was than the shorter, raven-haired man. “Got too excited. Heh.”

“No, kidding,” Branch answered dryly. After making sure his body got back its much needed oxygen, he inclined his head towards the pile of suitcases. “Is that all of your stuff?”

“O-oh yeah! That’s all of it!”

Branch sighed, then braced himself to do a lot of heavy lifting – not his favorite activity at all. “Alright, then, let’s get your suitcases to your temporary apartment. I didn’t know you’d be arriving today so the penthouse hasn’t been cleaned out yet.”

“The penthouse?”

“Yeah, your mom said you wanted privacy, or whatever. But the penthouse is currently being used as a music room. You’ll have to use the vacant unit next to mine, I guess.” Branch heaved a heavy blue suitcase onto his right shoulder, while carrying another case on his left hand, this one an obnoxious checkered-green. He made his way towards the apartment building’s entrance, then paused and looked back at the pouting teenager. “You coming or what?”

“Am I s’posed to carry _all_ this heavy stuff?” Gristle whined, acting like the rich spoiled brat that he was.

“Yes, you will,” he retorted. “You should have thought twice about bringing this many suitcases.” Then, as if he’d just realized something important, asked in a suspicious tone: “How _did_ you even manage to bring all of _these_ here?” 

“Paid the cab driver at the airport three hundred dollars for helping me!” The teen puffed out his chest; grinning and looking very proud of himself.

Branch stared disbelievingly at the stupidly rich teenager. “You paid three hundred bucks for a fucking thirty-minute ride from the airport?!”

“Yep,” he answered, looking smugly at Branch. “Even paid a fifty-dollar tip to the good cab driver.”

Branch openly gaped at the younger man. “Fifty-” 

“He actually asked for seventy but I told him I could only give fifty.”

“Fifty fucking dollars for a fucking tip.” Branch muttered under his breath. “You know what, forget I even asked how you got here. Just grab your bags ‘coz I won’t fucking carry all of ‘em.” He spat, leaving the grumbling teenager to sulkily grab two of his other suitcases.

It took them three trips to completely carry all of Gristle’s luggage to his new apartment unit, situated on the third floor, right in between Claude’s and Branch’s units. This one looked similar to the eight other apartment units in the building. There was the small living area, already furnished with a small glass table in the middle, and a black leather sofa.

Right next to the living room, creating a kind of boundary line, was a modern black and white oak-top island counter with matching white stools next to it. The kitchen area also had the same black-and-white design. And a few steps to the right were the bedroom and bathroom, which also matched the overall style and design of the previous rooms. 

“Well, it’s not as big as my own room at the estate, but it looks comfortable at least,” Gristle voiced aloud his observation, looking through each kitchen cabinet. “But I there’s no food in here, Branch! Or dishes!”

Branch breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself. “Like I said _earlier_, I didn’t know you were coming _today_. If you had told me in _advance_, I would have bought at least some of the things you’ll need, like dishes, or blankets, or something.”

“Oh, well, I guess it’s alright, since you didn’t know,” the teen nodded sagely. “So, what’ll I eat for dinner?”

“I _don’t _know. I just learned you were coming thirty minutes ago, in case you forgot,” he answered sarcastically. Branch turned and headed towards the door, leaving the green-haired teen, who had busied himself with unpacking. “You still like pizza, right?” He asked at the doorway.

“Yeah! Something extra cheesy and meaty!”

He nodded, then slowly closed the door, making a mental note to order at least ten boxes of pizza. The school year had barely begun and it already felt like it was going to be a wonderful, stressful, turbulent academic year. Branch’s senior life couldn’t get any fucking better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: The song’s called Nella Fantasia. Okay, I am not an opera song expert. But I’ve done some research whether the song is indeed an opera song, and from what I’ve gathered, it’s not. It was originally based on an instrumental called “Gabriel’s Oboe” and Sarah Brightman turned it into a song. So, why did I insist to use this song as an “opera song”? It’s simple, really. I liked its English translation after listening to a boys’ choir who sang the it wonderfully, countless times.
> 
> Hopefully, I can update on time next time! *fingers crossed*
> 
> And Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!
> 
> P.S: If anyone’s interested to know how Branch sounded like, you can click on this [**link**](https://youtu.be/XHv6wdHMnGU)


	4. Do You Wanna Build A-?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poppy shows how obstinate she can be. Branch is exasperated. And their relationship continues to thrive as they grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I had a hard time writing this chapter, tbh. It didn’t really go the way I originally planned it which made it more difficult. But I’m a lot happier with how it turned out.
> 
> Also, a big THANK YOU to AutumnallTroll for beta reading! I wouldn’t have finished writing this chapter if it wasn’t for her. (T_T)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Trolls. Also don’t own any of the songs featured in this story.

The following weeks had been a mixture of aggravation, excitement, and a huge load of responsibilities. Now that Poppy was in her junior year at university, she needed to focus more on searching for possible organizations that would offer upcoming internships, and preparing for the fast-approaching Bergenville University festival.

_Not_ on tracking down a certain grumpy raven-haired engineering student – who had a real knack for avoiding people, Poppy especially, when he didn’t want to be found.

And, oh boy, did he not want to be found right now.

After the whole singing fiasco at the nursing home, Branch had definitely tightened up on his Poppy evasion skills. Taking them to a whole new level.

Since their classes together were limited to only twice a week, he had taken the strategic route of helping Professor Mangus carry his heavy suitcase upon arriving to class. At first she thought her grumpy friend was finally trying to actively socialize with his professors, but immediately threw her first assumption out the window when he did the same thing for the next class, and the next class, and the next class after that.

It also didn’t help when he suddenly decided to sit in the front during class; which Branch never did. Because he always chose the seat next to the window, as it was the most ideal spot for ignoring boring professors and their monotonous lectures.

So by month’s end, Poppy was ready to throttle Branch out of pure frustration.

She couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to talk to her anymore. She’d only asked him to join the upcoming B.U. talent competition. That was all.

What could be so wrong with asking him to sing on stage? He had a _beautiful_ voice. If he won the contest, fame and fortune wouldn’t be far behind. Stardom would be calling his name, agents knocking down his door!

And it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt with Branch actively avoiding her like this. It only caused her anger towards him to grow, as she continuously stabbed a fork into her bowl of mashed potatoes. She was in desperate need of venting out some of the anger brought on by this whole dumb situation, and today, her food was the first victim faced with incurring her fiery wrath.

At least it was food, and not friends.

A loud thump came from the seat in front of her and brought Poppy out of her brooding state. She stared at the grinning white-haired man in front of her.

Speaking of friends…

“Heyaaa Chica~!” Cloud Guy greeted her with his usual Cloud Guy exuberance. “Why the long face? You’ve been jabbin’ at that poor bowl of mashed potatoes for the last fifteen minutes! Somethin’ wrong with it?”

She sighed loudly, then pouted at the man. “It hasn’t been fifteen. More like five.” She grumbled under her breath as she pushed her tray of food away from her, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Sorry to tell you this, chica, but I’ve been standing at the lunch line for about ten minutes, and you were _already_ stabbing your food then like you were imagining it was somebody else,” he retorted, raising a disapproving brow. “Is there a problem in your midst?”

She scoffed at the man. “I don’t have any problems.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. You’re not fooling me, Pops. I know you better than that, mon jolie amie,” Cloud Guy replied, eyeing his tray suspiciously. Some of the dishes on it looked like they were edible, to a degree. Some…he didn’t really want to know about. It was better to be blissfully ignorant about this sort of thing.

Poking a hard lumpy ‘meat ball’ with his fork, he continued, “You’re not” - he sniffed the meat ball cautiously, then took a bite - “a good liar, by the way. So let me guess, Dumpy Diapers?”

“Why would you think this has anything to do with him?” She rolled her eyes, avoiding the question.

“Well, he’s usually the only one who can make you sound so-” he paused, waving his fork around, a half-eaten meat ball still speared on it- “-aggravated.” He finished. “Plus, I saw him earlier. He was running like Satan himself was hot on his trail. Pun not intended.”

Throwing her hands in the air as a sign of defeat, Poppy huffed an annoyed sigh and slumped her head on the table. “Fine, it _is_ Branch. Happy now?”

“Not quite.” Cloud Guy grinned at her. “So, what’s going on, chica? Details would shed some helpful light.”

“Branch has been avoiding me,” she answered glumly.

“Hasn’t he been doing that…oh I dunno, since last year?” he asked, giving her a look. Because it was true; Branch usually _did_ avoid Poppy. And it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. Taking another bite of his half-eaten meatball, Cloud Guy added, “_Man_, this meatball tastes _good_. Wonder what’s it made of…”

Poppy smiled. Her eyes twinkled like she knew a secret best kept from him. “Trust me, CG, you don’t wanna know.”

“Oookay, pass on that,” he replied, then shrugged and continued eating his lunch. “But I _do_ want to know more about your Branch problem.”

Poppy rarely got angry. In fact, she almost _never_ got angry. She was dubbed the happiest student in the entire campus by those that knew her. She exuded happiness, sunshine, and rainbows every single day. But recently, she felt her calm, happy composure slowly slipping away. Felt it in the flattening of her lips and the furrowing of her brows.

“My _Branch problem_ is that he’s been _avoiding_ me for the past month!” Poppy nearly screamed in frustration which took the white-haired man by surprise. She gave a small apologetic smile at the other students who’d heard her small outburst.

Cloud Guy whistled in complete amazement, and chuckled. “Wow, Branchiekins really has you all riled up, huh?”

“I’m not ‘riled up’,” she countered, pouting in slight indignation. “Branch can just be…very…frustrating sometimes.”

“Can’t deny that, sister,” CG admitted. Then his face suddenly lit up, an idea forming in his mind. “Tell you what, Poppy. I’ll help you track down the elusive Grumpy Troll.”

Poppy paused, and quirked a curious brow at her friend. “I’m listening.”

She patiently watched while CG rummaged through his small backpack looking for a pen and paper. He was rapidly mumbling something under his breath; she had difficulty trying to decipher what he was saying – something about “he wouldn’t expect it” and “stubborn man”.

“Aha! Finally found one!”

Her friend shouted like he had discovered one of the world’s greatest treasures. Then he furiously scribbled away, making what Poppy thought looked like some kind of map. She tilted her head slightly, trying to get a good look at what the man was drawing, if you could even call the barrage of squiggly lines a drawing.

“Aaaand there! Parachever~! Here you go, Pops.” He pushed the paper in front of her and she had to stare hard at each line and scrawled word.

“I’m sorry, CG, but what’s this supposed to be?”

“It’s a map to where I live, of course,” CG answered, obviously proud of himself.

“I see,” she answered, a little unsure what to make of it. “And you gave me a map of where you live because…wait, don’t you live at the fraternity house?”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Nah. I just sleep there sometimes. I have my own apartment unit on the same floor as Branch’s.”

Well, that was news to Poppy. She had been friends with the Modern Language Degree student for almost three years now and it was her first time finding out he actually lived outside of campus. In his own apartment, moreover.

“CG, I’ve known you for almost three years, and I only find this out now…why?” She asked, completely surprised.

“’Coz you always just see me hangin’ at the fraternity house,” he answered, breezily. “Also, Grumpy Gus made me swear not to tell anyone where I actually live. Grumbling about needing to live in peace without any constant noise. And no partying either…”

“Wow, you’re really putty in Branch’s hands, aren’t you?” she remarked, slowly reading the street names on the map.

“Girl, it’s either I do what he asks me, or my evil aunt finds out about the stupid things I’ve done, and throws me into the slammer. Permanently.” He shuddered.

That was another surprise for Poppy. Cloud Guy believed Branch would rat him out, just like that? “Really? I don’t think he’d do that to you.”

Yes, Branch could be aggravating, sarcastic, and grumpy most of the time, but he wasn’t the kind of person who would gossip, nor would he tattle on someone. On the contrary; Poppy knew Branch was the best keeper of secrets.

Once, he accidentally overheard Poppy talking with Cindy – another business management classmate - about the latter’s pregnancy. And oh, boy, it was the most controversial issue of the year.

Poppy didn’t know how to react to Branch’s little accidental discovery, but he simply ignored both women, and told them to have the discussion elsewhere. He also told Cindy – in a very sarcastic way – to be a responsible adult, then left.

She worried Branch would gossip about what he’d heard. But the man didn’t breathe a word of it to anyone. And the university administration team was able to settle the issue amicably, with none of the other students catching wind of it.

“Branch isn’t the kind of person who reveals secrets about others, you know,” Poppy huffed, a little bit defensive of the grumpy man.

“Yea…I know,” Cloud Guy replied, grinning.

The way he answered made her quirk a curious brow. It held a deeper meaning, but she could only wonder what it actually meant.

“Anyway, just follow the directions and you’ll be able to reach our apartment building. Oh, and he’s probably in the rooftop penthouse right now.”

“Alright, I think I got the directions figured out,” Poppy grinned back at him. After tucking the small map inside her pink satchel bag, she stood up and walked over to give her white-haired friend a hug. “Thanks for the help, CG.”

“Anytime, lovely lady.” He winked. “Good luck!”

\-------

The white apartment building that stood in front of her was modern and clearly very expensive too. Poppy knew a luxury apartment when she saw one. And the location of the building was also a dead giveaway, since it was situated in the city’s most upscale residential area, right near the university.

Though the place had a much simpler design, it was in its most pristine condition. The building had three floors, with nine apartment units, and each unit had its own balcony. There was a small round lawn on the left front area of the building. A parking space was on the right, a neem tree standing splendidly next to it. And a bicycle rack was stationed underneath the tree.

Poppy knew Cloud Guy was somewhat rich (he had the intriguing habit of supplying all the booze for some of the big fraternity parties he often attended). But she didn’t expect Branch to live in the same place as well.

The guy practically wore the same set of clothes every single day of the week. A black or dark green hoodie and cargo pants.

Poppy stopped then, mentally berating herself. She knew it was wrong to judge a person by the clothes on their back. Branch was simply the type of person who tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, and who certainly held a lot of layers and secrets. And Poppy was curious to know what each layer held.

She needed to talk to him about joining the upcoming B.U. Festival Talent Competition. It wasn’t your average everyday sort of talent competition; it was renowned throughout the country as a prestigious pool for discovering the best singers, artists, actors, and actresses out there. People like Elvis Parsley, Celeen Jion, Jahnny Deep, and many others. All had been university alumni and had been discovered at this very competition.

As a member of the organizing committee for last year’s festival, Poppy just had to persuade Branch to join the competition this year. It would be such a huge waste if he didn’t get to share his singing talent with the public. Plus, this was his last year at the university. Which meant it was also his last chance to be discovered, and Poppy would not allow him to miss that chance. Not if she could help it. 

Her ride up the elevator to the penthouse was uneventful and short. With a soft ding, the elevator doors opened and Poppy walked out of it. She looked around the rooftop hideaway with mild curiosity. There were potted fern plants on each corner, a few other larger plants and manicured shrubs lining the rest of the rooftop’s border. Three white plastic lounge chairs sat next to what looked like an inflatable swimming pool, cans of beer loitering around in the water.

_Looks like they had a pool party recently_, she thought to herself.

Then she heard the soft sound of a piano playing. She listened to where the captivating sound was coming from and saw the door of the penthouse was slightly ajar. She quietly walked towards it, then, slowly, she pushed the door open a little wider and stepped inside.

The room was gorgeous.

Outside, the penthouse looked smaller, despite having a second floor. But inside, Poppy was amazed at what she saw. The whole unit had been transformed into a music room!

The entire living area was filled with many different instruments. There was a full drum set in one corner. Sets of Bongos and African drums could be found not too far away.

There were also an array of different guitars near the drums. A small sound booth was set up in another corner close by. Electronic recording devices, mixers, microphones and wires were neatly placed inside a glass cabinet next to the booth. A computer sat atop a cluttered desk filled with music sheets. And across from it, next to an open window, stood a black upright piano.

Branch was sitting at the piano, his back towards Poppy, and was playing a soft melody. She didn’t recognize the song he was playing, but decided not to interrupt the man… yet.

Then he started to sing softly.

_“There was a time when I was alone,” _he sang slowly. “_Nowhere to go and no place to call home. My only friend was the man in the moon. And even sometimes he would go away, too.”_

Just like the first time she heard him sing, Poppy was awestruck. And tears slowly gathered at the corners of her eyes as she silently listened to his beautiful voice, the notes he delivered giving her chills.

_“I am a lost boy from Neverland._

_Usually hanging out with Peter Pan. _

_And when we're bored we play in the woods. _

_Always on the run from Captain Hook. _

_‘Run, run, lost boy,’ they say to me. _

_Away from all of reality…”_

She still couldn’t believe that the worrisome, brusque, sarcastic man she’d known through most of her university life possessed the voice of an angel. How had she never known before, that buried under the enigma that was Branch Garrick, lived a man with the most beautiful, soulful voice in all the world?

_“Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, Wendy Darling,_

_Even Captain Hook, you are my perfect story book._

_Neverland, I love you so,_

_You are now my home sweet home_

_Forever a lost boy at last…”_

But there was a nagging feeling at the back of her mind. There was something about his voice that sounded…oddly familiar…

_“Neverland is home to lost boys like me. _

_And lost boys like me are free._

_Neverland is home to lost boys like me. _

_And lost boys like me are free…” _

She listened as the last notes of the song were played. Slowly opening her eyes, she did not steel herself from the anger that burned in his sky blue eyes.

Now it was _her_ turn to be discovered. Oops. 

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” he growled at her.

Poppy flinched, involuntarily stepping back. A gust of wind blew in from the window, scattering some papers laying on top of the piano, and onto the floor. One of them flew right in front of her, snapping her attention away from the angry man.

Before she could kneel down to pick up the paper, Branch abruptly stood up and snarled at her.

“Don’t you put a fucking hand on that!” he shouted, angrily striding towards her. He snatched the paper from the floor before she could even react. “Don’t touch _anything_.”

“I-I’m sorry, Branch. I w-was just helping…” she stuttered, biting her lip. The fear laced in Poppy’s voice seemed to have snapped him back to reason.

“I—Poppy…” Branch sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was trying to calm himself, steadily fighting against the anger brewing inside of him. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. I was just surprised to see you here.” He got up and closed the window, so no more of his sheet music could plot an escape. “How’d you even know where to find me?”

She thought of telling him a lie but she was a horrible liar. It was useless to even try. Telling the truth was the only way.

“Cloud Guy may have clued me in,” she answered, a little timidly. She was still the tiniest bit rattled by the way he’d lashed out at her so suddenly. Then she remembered her own anger and hurt felt during those times he completely ignored her and her fear subsided. “I needed to find you, Branch. You’re hiding from me and I wanna know why. I’ve really needed to talk to you but you’ve been avoiding me! For an entire month!”

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Listen here, buddy,” she countered as she started poking him in the chest. “_You_ started sitting in the front row during lectures, which you never ever do, because you wanted to get away from me whenever we have classes together!” Poke. “_You_ acted like you didn’t hear me whenever I’d call your name after said classes!” Poke. “And _you_ didn’t reply to any of my calls or messages!”

Poppy was breathing hard and tried to control her emotions. She really didn’t like being angry, and it only infuriated her more that Branch was apparently the only one who could truly rile her up like this. And as her fury spilled out, the aggravating man in question only raised a brow and smirked at her.

Damn it, CG was right. Why’d he have to be right about this? Of all things…

“Okay, first,” he started, raising one finger. “Professor Mangus’ class is very difficult. It’s better to sit in front to understand his lessons more. And he doesn’t have a voice that projects all that well, so it’s harder to hear him from the back.” He raised a second finger, and continued, “Second, I didn’t hear you call me because it’s quite noisy when the bell rings.” Finger number three shot up. “And, third, my phone was broken. It couldn’t receive any calls or messages,” he ended, lowering his hand again.

She glared at him, clearly unimpressed with his reasons, as she knew the truth. “You’re just making excuses,” she insisted heatedly.

He shrugged, not seeming to care what she thought.

Outwardly, Branch looked like he was both calm and pissed at the sudden appearance of the bubbly pinkette, who was also glaring daggers at him, not accepting his half-assed excuses. Inwardly, his mind was running a mile a minute.

This was already the second time he’d been caught off guard by her presence. It was also the second time she’d heard him sing. And from what he knew about Poppy, she was a hardcore fan of his ex-band ‘The Party Crashers’. He couldn’t count the number of times Poppy had gushed about how ‘cool’ or ‘amazing’ or ‘unbelievably beautiful’ she thought BG’s voice was.

If Branch wasn’t trying so hard to hide his past, he knew he would have enjoyed Poppy’s reaction. Totally unaware that her biggest childhood crush was the gloomy, grumpy, sarcastic Branch ‘BG’ Garrick.

But he didn’t want anyone to know, especially Poppy. She’d ask lots and lots of questions. Questions he would rather not answer. Questions he didn’t know _how_ to answer.

So looking down at the miffed woman, Branch pointed at the door. “Get out, Poppy,” he ordered coldly. “Get the fuck out of my room. _Right now_. And don’t come back either.”

Before she could even retort, he lifted her up and unceremoniously carried her over his shoulder like an unwanted sack of potatoes. Poppy squealed in surprise and tried to wriggle her way down from his shoulder.

“Branch! Put me down!” Poppy squeaked, completely embarrassed by the current predicament she found herself in. He turned his head towards her, a wicked grin spreading across his face, and Poppy paled. She tried squirming more but his hold on her was surprisingly strong. She was trapped. “Branch, please put me down! Braaaaaanch-!”

“Oh I’ll put you down alright.”

He quickly walked through the penthouse’s threshold and dropped her on the floor. She looked up at him, eyes wide and filled with disbelief. He gave her a smug look before turning around and slamming the door behind him.

Poppy was utterly appalled at the raven-haired man. And a new surge of anger rose up inside her. But she quelled it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her cool. Instead, she marched towards the closed door with newfound tenacity, paying no heed to the darkening clouds above. She raised her fist to knock on the door when an idea suddenly struck her. And she grinned.

Branch heard the rhythmic tapping on the door and chose to ignore it. He needed to find new ways to avoid Poppy, again. If only he had a bunker of his own, somewhere far away from this city as possible. As far away from _Poppy_ as possible.

But then he would need to drop out of college, and he couldn’t do that; there were only a few more months left before graduation. Besides, he needed to stay close to his grandmother. Living in an underground bunker, at the moment, was not in the cards.

Just then, Poppy’s voice broke through his mind’s fretful ramble.

“Branch?” Poppy asked, then knocked on the door five times. “_Do you want to build a snowman? Come on, let’s go and play! I never see you anymore. Come out the door. It's like you've gone away~!_”

He quirked an incredulous brow at the door. She wasn’t seriously singing what he thought she was singing, right? But the pinkette continued.

“_We used to be best buddies_

_And now we're not._

_I wish you would tell me whyyyy!_

_Do you want to build a snowman?”_

And Branch couldn’t help it. He snorted, his lips quirking as he replied, “It’s in the middle of summer, Poppy. How would you build a fucking snowman in 90-degree weather?”

“_It doesn't have to be a snowman…_” Poppy answered in a sing-song voice.

He shook his head. Staring sadly at the small shadow underneath the door, he responded, “Go away, Poppy.”

There was a pause outside and he thought that she had finally decided to leave. Which should’ve made him happy. That was what he wanted, right? To live out a life in solitude, so he could protect his fragmented heart from the pain of losing anyone else who was precious to him.

But he only felt hollow inside.

Turning his back from the doorway, he paused when Poppy’s voice called out again. “Branch? _Please, I know you’re in there…for a month I’ve wondered where you’ve been. I want to help you, and I’m trying to. I'm right out here for you. Just let me_\- AHHH!”

She suddenly screamed at the sudden thunderclap that crashed throughout the skies. Branch didn’t waste a single moment and yanked the door open. Poppy hugged her legs towards her chest, hands clutching her head tightly as she lodged it between her knees. She whimpered as another boom of thunder echoed and the heavy drops of rain started falling.

Poppy was starting to get drenched from the rain but was still frozen in fear. He didn’t know she was afraid of lightning. She always looked fearless in everything she did. It was kind of weird, seeing her shaking in sheer fright like this.

For the second time that day, he carried her in his arms. Carefully placing one arm under her legs, while the other supported her back, he kept her close to his chest and walked back inside with her. And once more, he noticed how light she felt and how easy it was, to carry her in his arms. 

Another thunderclap roared and she flinched. Whimpering, she burrowed her face against his chest and clenched her hand tightly on his shirt.

“Poppy,” Branch gently whispered her name, as he entered the penthouse and made a beeline towards one of the bedrooms upstairs. “Relax… I’m here. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

He felt her body instantly relax.

He opened the door of the room nearest the stairs. Then carefully lowered her onto the bed. But she instantly tensed up and grasped his shirt tighter. She looked up at him, fear evident in her eyes, and a lone tear slid down her cheek.

“P-please don’t l-leave me,” she begged in a shaking voice. “P-please d-don’t…”

“Shush. Hey, hey, I’m not gonna leave you,” he whispered, gently cupping her cheeks and wiping the tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I just need to grab a towel for you… and some dry clothes. You’ll get sick if we don’t get you out of those wet clothes.”

“But-”

“I’ll be right back, I promise.”

She stared at him glumly but nodded, albeit reluctantly. A few minutes later, he returned carrying a towel, a pair of sweatpants, and a shirt. He looked to see Poppy huddled underneath the bedcovers.

The rain outside was still pouring heavily but the thunder had stopped, thankfully.

“Hey, change into these clothes before you catch your death,” he said, placing the towel and clothes near the edge of the covers. A pink head of hair slowly appeared from under the covers and chocolate-brown eyes stared at Branch.

Poppy gave him a sheepish smile. “You must think I’m stupid,” she mumbled. “Being afraid of thunder and all…”

He shook his head, then answered. “Annoying? Naïve? Sure. But never stupid.” He pushed the towel and clothes towards her. “Here. You can change underneath the covers if you don’t want to go to the bathroom to change. I-I’ll turn around so you can…have some privacy…”

His cheeks were aflame now, as he became aware of the current situation, which Poppy seemed completely oblivious to.

“Thanks,” she answered, smiling shyly. Grabbing the clothes and towel, she went underneath the covers and started undressing. Branch dutifully turned around at the sound of clothes rustling.

Moments later, Poppy emerged wearing Branch’s spare shirt and sweatpants, while slowly drying her hair. “I’m done.” She called out.

Branch turned back to her, breath catching in his throat. Her long pink hair was unbound, carelessly flowing down her shoulders. Her eyes were now completely devoid of makeup. The freckles on her cheeks looked like they were sprinkled with just the right amount of shimmer, making her look absolutely beautiful.

He already knew how beautiful Poppy was. No matter how light her makeup was, or how simple her outfit was – like the short denim skirt and pink flowery blouse she wore earlier.

Seeing her without makeup and wearing _his_ clothes just made it that much more intimate. It had his heart beating to a frenzied pace. He just couldn’t help it.

“Thanks,” she said, giving him a small smile.

He smiled in return. “No problem,” he answered. It really was no problem at all. In fact, he felt awfully happy about the turn his day had taken, but kept the thought to himself. “Sooo,” he cleared his throat and rubbed his neck anxiously. “Need anything else? I can make you some sandwiches or something, if you want.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll pass on the sandwiches.” She answered. Then her face became thoughtful. “But…could you sing a song for me instead?” she asked hopefully.

He stiffened at the request. “Poppy, I don’t think-”

“A song always makes me feel better…after…” she trailed off. Her fingers fidgeted anxiously as she remembered her recent traumatizing experience. “I wasn’t afraid of it back then. I think it started when my mom got sick, and Daddy always had to stay at the hospital to take care of her…and I would always be left alone at home.”

She was looking at her fingers, but her gaze held a faraway look. “Then, this one time I was all alone at home, we had a _huge_ thunderstorm. It caused a power outage in my neighborhood…it was pitch black inside my room, and the only sound echoing all around was the thunder. It was so loud.” She took a shaky breath. “Th-then my father found me the following morning, hiding inside my walk-in closet...”

Branch tried to imagine a small young girl hiding inside a closet, completely terrified of the darkness around her, hoping that her father would come home soon and save her. He wished he’d been there, to hold her close in his arms, and make everything a little less scary.

“My fear of thunder and lightning grew worse,” she went on. “I started hyperventilating whenever I heard news of an approaching storm. I started having therapy sessions after that. One of my therapists asked me what I loved doing the most. I told her I liked singing. And then she told me, that if ever I start feeling terrified, to start singing.”

Branch nodded, listening intently to her as she continued.

“Singing didn’t completely remove my fear of thunderstorms, but it did lessen it to a point where I didn’t have to hide inside my closet.” She laughed and shook her head wryly. “I always sang ‘True Colors’.”

“True Colors?” He asked, finally finding his voice again.

“Yeah, it was the first song I wrote. And I wrote it for my mom back when I was seven.”

“Your first song was for your mom?” He didn’t even know how to react properly to that. He unconsciously rubbed his arm instead.

“Mm-hmm…she died when I was nine...”

Well, that was completely unexpected. He wasn’t really privy to her family background. Though he did know a great deal about her father’s company: his favorite foods, or cherished pastimes, since she always talked about him.

But she rarely ever talked about her mom.

He jumped to the conclusion that she never really knew her enough to openly talk about her.

“Erm, what happened to her?” he inquired, unsure whether he wanted to know the reason or not.

“She died of cancer,” she replied, shrugging. “She battled against it for two years, but in the end, the cancer won.” Her voice was hollow, as if the pain from her mother’s death had already numbed her inside.

And Branch didn’t like it. He didn’t like how grey and lifeless she looked.

Changing his mind, quick as the lightning that previously flashed across the skies, he walked towards an acoustic guitar. It was propped up on a stand at the corner of the room, just near the windows. He grabbed it, then strummed a few notes, testing and tuning it.

Then he walked back towards the bed, and silently sat beside the pinkette.

“I don’t know the song, so you have to teach me,” he stated, carefully positioning the guitar on his lap and placing his fingers around its neck. The radiant smile she gave him was enough to quell his doubts about his decision. She quickly taught him the chords and the lyrics that accompanied them.

He had to stop himself from grinning at her awed expression brought on from how fast he learned the song. Being musically gifted, he could easily memorize a song’s melody from just listening to it one time, and he could perform it with almost no flaw.

“I’m only gonna sing this to you once,” Branch told her. He watched as Poppy hurriedly made herself comfortable by getting all snug and cozy under the thick bedspread.

“Ready?”

She nodded, smiling.

He took a deep breath and started playing the intro.

_“You with the sad eyes_

_Don't be discouraged…_

_Oh, I realize, _

_It's hard to take courage._

_In a world full of people,_

_You can lose sight of it all_

_The darkness inside you_

_Can make you feel so small…”_

The song had a beautiful melody. Branch was impressed that Poppy wrote this song when she was only in fourth grade. It was a song worth producing.

“_Show me a smile then_

_Don't be unhappy_

_Can't remember when_

_I last saw you laughing_

_This world makes you crazy_

_And you've taken all you can bear_

_Just call me up_

_'Cause I will always be there…_”

He watched as her eyes started to flutter close. She tried to stifle a yawn, but didn’t have the strength.

“_And I see your true colors_

_Shining through_

_I see your true colors_

_And that's why I love you…_”

Branch almost faltered as he said the last three words, and felt his face blush. He wasn’t really minding the meaning of the words earlier when he was still learning the song. But now, it held a heavier meaning.

He never truly told her about how he felt. He didn’t even _want_ to develop feelings for her. But ever since he had first laid eyes on her, she had slowly but surely planted herself in his heart.

“_So don't be afraid to let them show_

_Your true colors_

_True colors are beautiful..._

_I see your true colors s_

_Shining through_

_And that's why I love you_

_So don't be afraid _

_To let them show,_

_Your true colors_

_True colors are beautiful _

_Like a rainbow…_

_“Oh oh oh oh oh… like a rainbow…,” _he whispered, as the last sound of the guitar faded, and Poppy now slept peacefully.

Her chest slowly rose and fell in a steady rhythm as she slept. Quietly, he stood up and placed the guitar back on its stand. Then he was right back at her side.

His phone vibrated inside his jean’s back pocket, and he took it out. A quick glance down revealed that the caller was his meddling best friend. Rolling his eyes, he made sure to carefully tuck the covers around Poppy’s sides before answering.

Branch decided he wouldn’t kill Cloud Guy for meddling as he quietly walked out of the bedroom. Taking one last look at the sleeping beauty where she lay, bright pink hair spilling across her pillow, he smiled and gently closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I watched Frozen II last week and it was beautiful! I’m always mind-blown at Elsa’s transformations. And I couldn’t help but use one of the songs from the first movie. Hehehe…
> 
> If you enjoyed reading this chapter, please leave a kudos and review! =D
> 
> Also, try reading my beta's Broppy Ice Skating AU "Fire and Ice" if you haven't read it yet! Happy holidays everyone!!
> 
> **Songs featured:**
> 
> “Lost Boy” by Ruth B.  
“Do You Want To Build A Snowman?” from Disney’s Frozen.  
“True Colors” from Dreamworks’ Trolls.


	5. We Are TPC!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presenting the members of ‘The Party Crashers’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**Happy new year, everyone!! First chapter update of the year! Whoop! Unfortunately, this chapter won't have Broppy interactions and will focus more on the other members of the band and about the talent competition's history. But don't worry! More Broppy moments next chapter! 
> 
> I hope you'll still enjoy reading this chapter! And please don't forget to leave kudos and reviews! ❤
> 
> Last but not the least, thank you to my wonderful Beta, AutumnalTroll! YOU ARE AWESOME, MY DEAR!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I don’t own Trolls and any songs featured in this story.

**o0o**

**Chapter 5: We Are TPC!**

** _ The Party Crashers LIVE at It’s the Grand Show! _ **

_“Good evening, mates! And welcome to the **It’s the Grand Show**!” _

_The show’s host, Russel Grand, smiled widely as he greeted the audience and TV viewers, dancing a bizarre yet comical sort of jig to the beat of the show’s theme song. The audience, which seemed to be mostly comprised of young people, whooped and cheered as the camera panned across a sea of thrilled faces. _

_Then the host started his introductory segment._

_“Last week, we had the cast of the animated film ‘Toothless’ Training’ talk with us about some hilarious behind the scenes moments. We also discussed the possibility of there being a ‘Toothless’ Training 2’ or not. But, well, with the movie being such a huge blockbuster hit its opening week, I can’t see any reason why a sequel wouldn’t be far behind.”_

_Turning slightly to the left, Russel gesticulated at a different camera, and continued. “Now it’s time to welcome our first guests of the evening. This group of musicians has become a global sensation--selling almost 5 million copies of their new album. And the video for their hit single from the album, ‘**Can’t Stop This Feeling’**, received over 9.1 billion views on Youtube the day of its release! _

_But they didn’t stop there; they also won the Grammy Award for Best Rock Performance for two years in a row. Making history before any of them have even reached the age of 20! These talented musicians are already a powerful force to be reckoned with. There’s no stopping this feeling, and there’s irrefutably no stopping this talent either! Everyone make some noise for The Party Crasheeeersss!!”_

_The camera and stage lights focused on the right side of the stage, where a set of white-paneled sliding doors stood. The doors parted, revealing four teenagers, all wearing vibrantly colored metallic suits. Their outfits were paired with sneakers and patterned ties, which was a good mix of street and late-show dressy. _

_They were also wearing four different colored bob-styled wigs, each with a layer of fringe covering half of their faces. It wasn’t the first time the band had exhibited and showcased a sense of mysteriousness. Ever since their debut – made whilst wearing paper bags, with caricatures of their faces on them, over their heads – the musicians had left an undeniable impact. And the world would never be the same._

_Walking to the center of the stage, the members of ‘The Party Crashers’ were met with loud cheers from the audience. Then they shook hands and hugged Russel Grand, and were ushered to a charcoal gray Quentin Chesterfield couch. The audience continued to applaud; young fans went wild when the band members waved and blew kisses their way. _

_“Wow! That’s a lot of ladies cheering out there. Lucky you,” Russel commented, chuckling as he took his seat across from the band. “Great to have you boys here, again. Loving the suits.”_

_“Thank you very much, Rus,” TPC’s Big Guy, the vocalist and lead guitarist, replied happily. He looked at the camera, the lower part of his face not covered by his blue-colored wig, showed pearly white teeth as he smiled. “We’re so stoked to be back.”_

_“How was the tour?”_

_“Fun. And stressful,” the vocalist quipped. “But mostly fun. Tokyo’s a beautiful place, and we were really grateful to have the chance to play there.” _

_“Ahh, yes, Tokyo, Japan. Home to the most sophisticated toilets in the world,” Russel said in impeccable deadpan, which made the boys guffaw in laughter. “Japanese toilets should be sold internationally, let me tell you. They are a blessing to public restrooms here in the US.” When the following round of laughter died down, he got back on topic. “Anyway! So this was your first world concert tour…and it’s titled…?”_

_“We Are TPC,” the band supplied, voices overlapping with each other._

_“Nice, very nice! I actually went to your stadium tour concert in Glendale, California last month,” said Russel, and a picture of the concert was displayed on a digital screen behind them. It showed TPC’s Big Guy, or BG, singing while wearing the same blue-colored wig. Both of his arms were raised and he was tossing up double ‘rock-on’ hand signs. _

_The host motioned at the image, and continued. “Your performance was brilliant. Absolutely **brilliant**, indeed. I liked the wigs, B-T-W. But I especially liked the part where everyone changed instruments for the third song. What was that about?” _

_He looked at two band members sitting next to each other. One was wearing an all-white wig while the other wore a black-and-white one that split directly down the middle. _

_Guy Diamond, or GD, as he was usually called, answered the host’s question. “Yeah, so about that…see, during the concert production, Cloud Guy said he wanted to show off his dance moves for our song ‘**Can’t Stop This Feeling**’,” he explained, laughing at their somewhat eccentric white-wigged drummer. “So…we told our manager about it and was given the OK, after rehearsing the song for like, maybe, ten minutes. Give or take.” He leaned back, casually crossing his legs at the ankles._

_“Really? Wow. Just ten minutes?” the British host asked, completely amazed._

_“Yup, just ten,” CG replied with a relaxed nod. “The idea was a last minute kind of thing. Creek, our manager” – he gestured to a man, wearing a yellow suit and purple tie, standing behind a camera operator – “**wasn’t** actually happy about it at first… but we told him it would spice things up a little. So he agreed, if a tad reluctantly.”_

_“Well, I’m glad he did,” Russel responded, this time addressing Guy Diamond, the teen wearing the two-toned wig. “I’m surprised you knew how to play the drums, GD.”_

_“I’ve been playing since I was ten, actually,” Guy confirmed. “But when we started the band, we drew names to see who would play certain instruments.” He shrugged, chuckling._

_The entire studio erupted in undiluted laughter. _

_Not much was really known about how the band was formed, because their management were very tight-lipped about it. And any information about the members’ personal lives was kept absolutely confidential; which was quite rare – given the normal lives of celebrities. Anything, and **everything**, was under the severe scrutiny of the public due to how elusive they appeared to be._

_Which made the public love ‘The Party Crashers’ even more._

_They couldn’t get enough of the mystery that shrouded the band. _

_However, the real reason why TPC’s management hid all personal information about the band members was because of Chef Heavens; who owned more than seventy percent of the company. She didn’t want annoying, snoopy reporters digging through her nephew’s personal life. Not to mention, she knew they’d be digging through hers too, as she was listed as CG’s guardian, and she was not about to play that game._

_“Well, that’s an excellent way of delegating tasks,” Russel chuckled, quickly peering at the small cue hard in his hand. “Now then, speaking of this concert tour of yours…it’s certainly garnered a lot of social media attention, hasn’t it?” _

_The boys nodded their heads simultaneously, and the host continued, “It’s the biggest concert tour you’ve had so far. Would you agree?”_

_“Yep, definitely the biggest, most stressful, but most fun tour ever,” TPC’s fourth member admitted happily. He was wearing the same kind of wig, just like the others. But his was bright red. _

_“Definitely.” BG concurred._

_“Absolutely!” GD seconded._

_“Best tour eveeeer!!” CG whooped aloud._

_Everyone inside the studio proudly cheered for the band. For such a young group of musicians, the four had definitely achieved an unbelievable feat. They were an inspiration to all young artist hopefuls out there who had big dreams of becoming famous someday._

_“The one held in Glendale was s’pose to be the **last** of your tour, wasn’t it?” The host’s voice suddenly turned mischievous, as he gazed at the grinning band members. “But…a little birdie told me there’s one more place you wanted to perform...”_

_Fans in the audience suddenly started whispering excitedly to one another. The concert tickets for TPC’s stadium tour had been so highly anticipated, they’d sold out within a day. And some members of the audience were unable to purchase any tickets._

_The camera then focused on the band’s leader who wore a shit-eating grin. _

_“The little bird’s right.” BG confirmed, which caused some fangirls to start cheering in excitement. “To celebrate the end of our very first world tour, we’ll be performing in the capital city of our very own home state: Portland, Maine!”_

_Then, Cloud Guy suddenly jumped up with an enormous grin and shouted, “Hey everyone, look under your seats!” Gasps and curious murmurs were heard throughout the studio. _

_“Everyone gets free tickets for the upcoming TPC’s Concert in Portland next month!” he announced. And fans all over the audience began jumping up and down and screaming in utter jubilation. _

_“We’ll be right back with ‘The Party Crashers’ after a short break!” The show host exclaimed, as the camera panned across the audience once more, and showed some overjoyed fans crying and squealing uncontrollably as they showed off their tickets for all the viewers at home._

\----

Branch turned off the TV, already knowing how the next part of the interview went; his band performed their big hit single ‘_Can’t Stop This Feeling’_. The song that ended up being nominated for Song of the Year at the Grammys.

They continued with the interview, talking about their experiences during the tour, and fan meetups.

It was a very successful guest show appearance.

The band’s announcement to have the concert in their home state amassed a lot of attention on social media and in the newspapers. It was a near constant topic of conversation amongst their fans, who were ecstatic for their encore performance the following month: September.

Back then, Branch was living out the best and brightest days of his life and career.

But fate always has a way of fucking you over when you least expect it. The tragedy that awaited his family on the day of the concert itself was proof enough of that.

Even now, he still blamed himself for the death of his parents. If Branch hadn’t insisted on going back and staying at his childhood home in Blue Hill Town, they would never have wound up in that accident. He’d probably still be continuing his singing career.

But, more importantly, his parents would still be alive.

Branch sighed tiredly. A knock on the door halted his stroll down memory lane.

He already had a pretty good idea who was on the other side. Making sure he wore his best poker face, he stood up and went to open the door.

Claude Heavens greeted him with one of his larger than life grins, his eyes glittering like a 6-year-old who’d just opened the Christmas gift he’d been hoping for.

“Braaanch! Mi mejor amigo! Up high!” he exclaimed, raising his hand and waiting for his best friend to give him a high-five.

His beloved best friend only glared daggers at him and folded his arms across his chest. “We’ve been over this. Way too many times. I don’t do high-fives.”

“Awww, c’mon! Slap it, boss,” Cloud Guy persisted, still grinning.

“Not gonna happen,” Branch replied stubbornly.

“Party on the top floor.”

“Nope.”

“Little slappy, make daddy happy?!”

Branch scowled. “That’s weird.”

“C’moooooon! Just one little high five!”

Sneering, Branch mocked back in a pseudo-whiny voice. “Ohhhh no thanks, I’m good.”

“Here, just do this…” CG demonstrated how to do a high-five - slapping his left palm to the flat palm of his other hand – like he was teaching a little kid how to do it for the first time. “…but with _your_ hand.”

“Thank you for that demonstration. It really cleared up _exactly_ what I will _not_ be doing.” He responded, scowling even more at his ex-bandmate. This had somehow become a routine occurrence whenever CG greeted him. In the past, he used to return it, but after constantly being tricked by the man, and getting frustrated about it; he’d decided to simply ignore the damn hand greeting altogether.

The drummer pouted at his friend and whined. “Awww…you’re no fun anymore, Branckiekins.”

Branch fought to keep his lips from tugging upwards, opting instead to grimace at his best friend’s dramatic antics.

“Whatever, you coming in or not?” he asked, not really desiring a reply.

He turned around and left his best friend at the penthouse’s doorway. Making his way into the kitchen, Branch started opening some cupboards, searching for a coffee mug. Finding one in record time, he poured himself a full cup, and then sat on one of the counter stools, letting the smell of hot brew revitalize him.

He watched as Claude placed his grey-colored knapsack on top of the island counter.

“Did you sleep well last night?” CG casually asked, while taking out a bag of delicious pastries inside his knapsack. Branch’s eyes suddenly lit up in excitement as he eyed each pastry laid out.

There were several croissants, danishes, chocolate éclairs, and profiteroles, all ready for the taking. Deciding on a strawberry-filled profiterole, Branch grabbed one and took a bite. The sweet filling slowly dissolved on his tongue, and he couldn’t help but groan in approval.

“Fuck man, why are Biggie’s pastries so fucking good?” Branch murmured, closing his eyes and savoring the sweet taste. Then, remembering CG’s initial question, added, “Didn’t get much sleep, to be honest.”

“The big man is the God of Pastries, no doubt,” CG agreed, choosing an éclair from the collection of confections. “No?” he said, smacking away. “Why not? Didn’t you sleep with Poppy?”

Branch choked on his food.

“Why the hell would you think _that_?!” he asked defensively. He really shouldn’t be defensive about it, since he really didn’t _sleep_ with her. In fact, he didn’t sleep _at_ _all_. The presence of the pink-haired personification of sunshine in the very room he himself usually slept in made him have thoughts so dirty he deserved to be smacked square in the face for them. One smack per thought. Until his whole face was numb.

It had been enough to keep Branch awake the whole godforsaken night.

“Was surprised to see her on my way to the elevator, and still wearing the same clothes she had on _yesterday_.” Cloud Guy remarked nonchalantly. _Too_ nonchalantly. 

Hm…maybe CG needed to be smacked too. If the shock would shut him up for a while, it was worth exerting the energy. 

“Oh-mah-GAH! You _did_ sleep with Poppy!”

“I. FUCKING. DID. NOT!!! What the actual fuck?!”

CG cackled in delight. It took another minute or so before CG’s laughter died down; while Branch fumed where he sat and was so tempted to shove him out of his chair and onto his stupid, cackling face.

To CG, Branch’s blushing and indignant reaction was absolutely priceless.

“So what _did_ happen? You never did tell me when we talked on the phone last night,” CG asked, sitting down on his own stool, but not before grabbing a croissant. “Spill that tea, bestie. C’mon, let me at it,” he coaxed with a wink.

“Nothing _happened_.” Branch hissed. “And stop thinking I slept with her. I was up all night _studying_.”

The preliminary exams were getting closer, and he really needed to review his notes if he wanted to pass his subjects, and graduate with flying colors. Unfortunately, his mind kept wandering. So he’d decided to watch something instead. He found a copy of his band’s last guest interviews, and without thinking, played it.

“You can’t fool me, compadre,” Claude quipped. “You don’t look like you studied _at all_. At least, not anything in your textbooks…” Another stupid wink.

Swearing under his breath, Branch sighed. A deep one, filled with resignation. Then he told him everything; he relayed all of the events that took place yesterday, sharing Poppy’s fear of thunder and lightning, that part spoken of as discreetly as possible. It wasn’t his place to talk about her past traumatic experiences, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to tell Cloud Guy about her phobia. At least, next time it happened, maybe Cloud Guy could help her too.

Claude whistled in astonishment. “Wow, astraphobia, huh? Had no idea she dealt with that.”

“Was actually surprised myself too,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Never seen her so…scared…”

Branch still couldn’t remove the image of a frightened and whimpering Poppy from his head. Throughout the night, he’d constantly checked on her every few hours, just to see if she was sleeping okay. Then later in the evening, she woke up to the smell of food.

He had just finished cooking dinner when she came down stairs, stomach growling and an adorably sheepish look on her beautiful face. While they were enjoying dinner together, Branch cryptically fielding Poppy’s constant questions, heavy rain started pouring down again.

So with no other choice, Branch told Poppy to stay for the night.

“Well, good thing you were there, compadre,” the white-haired man replied. Standing up, he went around the island counter to fix his own cup of coffee. Then, pausing, he looked at his best friend, his voice suddenly turning serious. “By the way, I heard something interesting from a friend of mine. You know Gemma Fur?”

“Gemma…who?”

“Chick with the ginger hair and tanned skin. The one from my Lit class…”

Branch tried to recall someone who fitted CG’s description but came up blank. “Can’t recall. Why?”

“Gemma’s a member of the organizing committee for the upcoming B.U talent competition…and…”

Branch groaned aloud. Was Cloud Guy seriously going to ask him too? It was one thing for Poppy to do it, but Cloud Guy should know better than to encourage him to join that damn competition.

But CG said something entirely different.

“Guy Diamond’s one of the judges.”

Branch immediately froze in his seat. Had he heard that right?

“What did you say?” Branch demanded, suddenly standing up.

“GD’s coming to the talent contest.”

\----

Several states away, in Hollywood, a man was leisurely browsing through his Twitter account as he waited to be called in for his guest interview. His short cropped hair was dyed silver. His initials - GD - were shaved just slightly above his ears.

His stylish white tuxedo suit, silver bow tie, and shiny black Tom Ford loafers made him stand out from the rest of celebrity guests lounging in the green room of the TV studio.

Guy Diamond, ex-guitarist of _The Party Crashers_, was definitely dressed to the nines. He really took the term ‘flashy’ to brand new heights. 

After TPC’s disbandment seven years prior, he had continued his music career as a solo artist. The decision to fly solo didn’t secure him the best results in the beginning. He wasn’t able to get very many gigs and his songs weren’t all that well received either. Everyone always compared him to his bandmate, BG.

But he didn’t give up.

Despite criticisms like his voice being ‘auto-tuned’ or his material lacking originality, he kept pressing on. And eventually, at long last he broke through and was able to win himself several awards - one Grammy and two AMAs. He also obtained quite a few nominations as well.

And with the help of his manager, Creek Rivers, Gauransh “Guy Diamond” Daniels was now at the pinnacle of his solo career.

The sound of muffled footsteps made him look up as Creek walked over, carrying a glass of red wine. As usual, his manager was wearing his signature yellow pants, a definite contrast to his fuchsia pink undershirt and cobalt blue shirt. His overall style was a barrage of colors that somehow complimented his pale skin and long purple-colored hair.

Creek had dyed his hair the same time all the members of ‘The Party Crashers’ decided to dye their hair for their big debut performance. Even now, in his mid-thirties, he continued dyeing his hair. One could say he was the kind of manager who liked to stand out. On someone else, the hair and clothing choice would easily be labeled a bold cry for attention, or help. But he had the flair to pull it off as a trendy look.

“Guy, darling,” Creek cooed. “Ready for your interview?”

“I’ve been ready since I stepped inside the studio an hour ago,” Guy Diamond snorted still browsing through the comment section of his new music video on YouTube.

“Fantastic, mate,” the manager replied, drinking his glass of wine all in one go. “Anyway, the host will probably ask you about the Bergenville University Talent Competition.”

“The Bergen-what-competition?” he asked, clearly confused, as it was the first time he’d heard of such a competition. “Name’s not ringing any bells on my end.”

“Well it makes sense it wouldn’t; it only happens four times every twenty-five years or so.”

“Every _twenty-five_ years?!”

“Yeah, Elvis Parsley won the competition and signed under Moon Records in 1949,” Creek answered, struggling to sound enthused as he recounted the tidbit of history. 

Placing his empty wine glass on a nearby table, he reached inside his pocket and took out a small box filled with Arturo Fuente cigars. He was about to light one when Guy Diamond interrupted him.

“You know you really shouldn’t be smoking in here,” GD warned, looking at the sprinkles systematically placed in different areas across the ceiling. But Creek merely ignored what he said and lit his cigar.

He took a long pull from it and held it in for a few seconds, small rings of smoke meandering out as he exhaled. “Relax, will you? It’s not going to do anything,” he retorted with a roll of his yes. “Anyways, back to what I was trying to tell you about before you interrupted me…”

“Yes yes, the…Bergen-whatchamacallit-competition…”

“_Bergenville University Talent Competition_,” Creek emphasized with growing irritation. “Better plant the name inside that big head of yours if you don’t want to be heavily criticized by the public.”

Guy Diamond’s manager briefly elaborated on more of the competition’s history, telling him about the different range of outstanding celebrities that were discovered after taking part. All of them making a huge impact and shaping the entertainment industry in a way that made them the legends they would forever be known as for years to come. 

“And you’re going to be one of the judges.” Creek ended, drawing another puff of smoke from his cigar.

Guy Diamond was dumbfounded at the news his manager had just decided to drop into his lap.

“I’M ONE OF THE WHAT?!” He screeched, whether in complete surprise or horror was up to debate. His eyes bulged so much they looked like billiard balls. “How did that happen?? I don’t know anything about judging! I don’t even have any experience!”

How did his manager even get this arranged?!

Creek seemed to have read his thoughts, and answered. “I pulled some strings, talked to a few people in the university’s administration department, and secured your spot.” He inhaled another lungful of smoke, blowing it out through his nose. “You don’t need to worry about not having experience when judging. In the end, the person who’ll chose the winner will be Mr. Sky Toronto.”

Guy Diamond thought the man’s named sounded familiar. Where had he heard it?

Then it hit him.

“Isn’t he the owner of _Party Shop_?”

“The one and only,” Creek smirked, looking like a rude caricature of the Cheshire Cat.

GD’s eyes widened in disbelief. The Party Shop was _the_ biggest manufacturer of party supplies and paraphernalia nationwide. In owning and running it, the Toronto family had made major connections that helped them construct a powerful empire out of parties and party necessities. And it went without saying that Sky Toronto, the current top dog of the business, was an incredibly influential player in the world of entertainment. Every door was accessible to him, for he held all the keys.

“The Torontos have always been the ones who chose the winners of the competition. And whoever is chosen will always, _always_ become a global success. Their work will continuously be repeated throughout the history of everything.”

Guy Diamond stared up in shock. “Wow…that’s pretty wild.”

“It is.”

“But I still don’t understand why I haven’t heard of it before.” GD’s face scrunched in mild confusion. “I mean, wouldn’t people be lined up for miles to audition for that contest?”

Creek chuckled, as if the answer was obvious. 

“Remember the name of the talent contest?”

“Bergenville University Talent Competition?” Guy Diamond replied dumbly.

“That’s exactly the reason.”

And GD finally understood. His eyes widened, his mouth dropping as realization hit him.

The competition was only open for students _currently_ studying _in_ the university. Also, from what he knew about the university, it was one of the hardest universities to get into. Almost ninety percent of the students got in because of recommendations from the university. The remaining ten percent were chosen after a rigorous selection process - usually taking more than a year - before the results came out.

Only the most tenacious, and _confident_, kinds of people were willing to wait for the results. While others gave up and chose another college or university to go to.

“Last year, the first year of the four-year BUTC started, and unfortunately, no one won,” Creek further explained, tossing his used cigar into a trash bin off in the corner. “That’s why there wasn’t much hype about it. Apparently, Sky Toronto took one look at the queue of students in front of the auditorium and told the university administration that no one had ‘it’. Then he walked outside to where his chauffeur awaited him, and headed straight back to the airport. The higher-ups were so shocked, they decided to just cancel the whole competition. That was actually the first time it ever happened...”

Guy was stunned to hear that they could just cancel a renowned competition like that. “That must have caused an uproar,” he remarked.

Creek clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Of course it did, Einstein. Luckily, the university director knew just how to handle the whole situation.”

“_Man_, wish I could enter the competition,” the singer whined.

“Sorry, mate, but I don’t think you could even _enter_ the university.”

Before Guy Diamond could even give a retort, the show’s production assistant called him in for his interview. At the back of his mind, he did kind of agree with his manager. He didn’t really like studying, so it would have been somewhat impossible for him. But, maybe not for his other bandmates.

One of them _did_ mention something about going off to college. What were the chances they’d been accepted to the one in question? They had to be almost nonexistent….

Surely.

\----

Meanwhile, in a grimy back alley in New York City, a much less fortunate soul was being mobbed by a group of thugs, all wearing hooded jackets. The thugs had been watching him from afar for some time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He was just leaving the grungy diner he worked part-time at, after receiving his measly pay of thirty whole dollars. Huzzah.

He should have seen the men coming. He had impressive perception skills, which he had adeptly used back when he was basking in the glorious glow of the spotlight. Back when everyone knew his name.

But those skills were pretty useless, now that he was a nobody…

The blow to his head knocked him clean off his feet before he could even turn the corner.

Now, he was being dragged into a dark back alley and was getting the shit beaten out of him. One of his attackers had tried to snatch the packet which contained his money, but he refused to give it to him. He needed this money.

His mum and siblings needed the money, if they all wanted to live.

He tried his best to fight them off, but it was a futile effort. There were a lot of them; plus, each one was at least a foot or two taller than him.

Right before he completely lost consciousness, someone came to his aid.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out. But when he regained consciousness and opened his eyes, the hooded men were gone and the person who had just saved him was scrutinizing him with a piercing gaze. He was shrouded in darkness, and though only his silhouette could be seen, it was enough to make the hair on his neck stand up.

“You alright?” The man’s deep voice echoed through the dark alley.

“Yeah…barely,” he groaned. The dull pain of bruises popping up all over his body made him forget his fear. Almost. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

The man shrugged indifferently, like this was a regular event for him.

“It was either I help or you die. Should have just given them what they wanted.”

“I can’t. And I _won’t_.” He glowered at the dirty ground, then at the dark shadowy figure in front of him. He flinched as he flipped his dark auburn hair out of his face, grimacing as pain shot throughout his body. Those bastards had really given him quite a beating.

“Even if you die?” The other responded, his voice blunt and cold as ice.

He gritted his teeth in anger. Yes, it would have been better if he _did_ die. At least, he wouldn’t have to continue living a pathetic life as a washed-out musician.

Seven years ago, when their vocalist and drummer decided to leave the band, he had thought there was still a chance he and Guy Diamond could hold it all together, keep it from falling apart for good. All they needed was to find new members, right?

But no, the half-Indian trash decided to leave him too, so he could pursue his own career as a solo artist.

And where did that leave Archer Pastry?

Back at his family’s old trailer, with his mum and all his younger siblings.

He did everything he could to get his old life back. He auditioned every chance he got, asked to join different bands, but it was no use. No one believed that the wimpy, scrawny-looking man was the ex-bassist of The Party Crashers.

On the other hand, Guy Diamond was out living the life that should’ve been Archer’s own. He shouldn’t be out here living in a slum. If only Branch hadn’t quit…if only Claude wasn’t a fucking follower who mindlessly walked out with his best friend. If only Gauransh had teamed up with him instead of ditching him…if only…

The sound of approaching footsteps made Archer flinch. He had to crane his neck to see the face of the man who saved him.

One glance had him cowering in fear.

The man had a lean face and sharp, calculating eyes. His head was shaved on either side, the hair that remained dyed red and styled in a thick spiked mohawk. His black leather jacket had spikes that ran from the shoulders all the way to his wrists. His jeans were splotched with oil stains and something else that Archer couldn’t identify.

_Best not to know_, he thought with a grimace.

“So you’re willing to die to protect what’s yours. I like that.” Mohawk-man smiled, showing disturbingly large canines, which only made him look even more frightening, as opposed to friendly. “Join my gang. We call ourselves ‘_The_ _Goblins’_.”

“Yeah, no, I think I’ll pass…” Archer declined, trying not to show how absolutely terrified he was. But Mohawk-man must have sensed his fear. “Uh, thanks anyway, Mister…?”

His smile curled into something much more sinister. “Name’s Bash. And I don’t think I gave you the option to decline, did I?”

\----

Back in Bergenville City, the core leaders of the BUTC organizing committee had just finished planning the last important details of the upcoming event. The meeting had carried on late into the evening, for there were a lot of necessary tasks that needed to be carefully planned out, and perfectly executed.

There was also one more important detail that needed to be addressed.

The university director, who was also the chairperson of the organizing committee, sat at the head of the table. His face held such a severe expression, no one dared to make a noise. Some were even trying to quiet their breathing for fear of being rebuked.

“So as you can see gentlemen, we have a complication in our hands,” Groth Whalgren addressed each person sitting at the table. “Mr. Sky Toronto has informed us that he will not be attending this year’s competition.”

There were a series of murmurs that erupted but all was quickly silenced by the loud bang of a gavel.

The director continued. “I have somehow persuaded Mr. Toronto to attend this year, with the promise that it would be worth his time…”

He scanned each face, intently studying their expressions, noting the trepidation in the way they looked away once he made eye contact. In another situation, Groth would have reveled in the power of instilling fear in people. However, currently, he didn’t have the luxury to do that.

The Toronto family had been the reason why the BUTC had become a success. Every generation, one member of the family held the uncanny ability of predicting what, or who, would become famous. Even if their family business never branched out to other industries, and only monopolized the party supplies market; they were still actively sought after by others.

That included Bergenville University.

It was, in fact, the current director’s great-grandfather who started the talent competition, with help from the _Party Shop's_ founder. But because of its current CEO’s attitude – someone who made split-second decisions the instant he saw something he liked or didn’t like – the competition was in jeopardy. Their students’ dreams, to grab fame and fortune, would not come to fruition. Not to mention, the university’s prestige would decrease substantially.

And there were only sixty-eight days left before the Bergenville University Talent Competition.

Saying things looked grim would be putting it lightly.

They needed a miracle.

And they needed it now.


End file.
